


Hospitality

by UnethicallyBrilliant



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Cheating, Drug Use, Exes, F/F, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Minor PharMercy, Night Terrors, Nightmares, POV Moira O'Deorain, Promiscuity, Rehabilitation, Short chapters because im impatient, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 53,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26509390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnethicallyBrilliant/pseuds/UnethicallyBrilliant
Summary: A few months after a relationship ending fight, Angela gets hurt on a mission while Moira's at a conference. Moira comes back to the news that Angela is in a coma.
Relationships: Moira O'Deorain/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 86
Kudos: 180





	1. 1

Moira was aware of the mission that was to be taking place. She was aware that it was dangerous. But all of that meant very little to her considering she was not going on this mission, and instead she was to attend a conference over the weekend. Relieved, of course, that she wasn't needed on the field, the redhead packed her bags and caught her flight.

In the air, she couldn't help but let her mind wander, gazing out at the clouds as the brilliant rays of the sun beamed through. She couldn't help but let her mind drift to seeing sunrises just like this, her arms wrapped around Angela, the sweat still on their bodies from hours of making love.

Was it love?

Moira scoffs to herself, swirling her small glass of whiskey before downing the rest and waving the stewardess over for another, along with a bit of flirtatious banter. What's that saying? Get over someone by getting under someone else? How many women does she have to get under before she's over Angela?

Too many.

She sighs, brows furrowed and leg bouncing as she watches the sun hide behind a plume of darker clouds. How fitting.

-

The conference went as expected. She sat through seminars, discussed her work with peers, and fucked a woman both nights. On Monday she checked out of the hotel late with a vibrant hangover, and she missed her flight by no more than five minutes. She threw up in the bathroom, and caught the next flight back to Zurich, luckily only an hour later, covered in sweat and as pale as a sheet of paper. 

She should not have had those last few shots of tequila.

The geneticist sleeps during her flight, despite the lacking leg room, and she's woken by a courteous young man nudging her shoulder.

"Sir- oh uh- sorry, ma'am- it's time to get off the plane- sorry-" he clearly felt bad about the mistake, taking notice of the vague curve of her chest as she readjusted and blinked herself into coherence. 

She cleared her throat and rubbed at her eyes, "Shit- thank you-" she mumbled her reply, standing and yanking down her carry on and overhead bags with a grunt before offering the young man a nod and taking her leave, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Moira sighed heavily as she entered through the doors back inside of base and out of the cold. She made her way through the halls, intent on getting back to her dorm to take a hot shower and wash the plane off of her, though she unfortunately rounded a corner to bump directly into Ana Amari. 

She looked detatched, but not unconcerned as she addressed the redhead, "O'Deorain. Back from your conference."

"Yes. It went well. Now if you'll excuse me-"

Amari interrupted her, "I have some news I think you need to be aware of, given your...relationship."

Moira stilled herself, posture rigid and eyes locking with the other woman. What was she insinuating? Nobody knew about her and Angela. Was this some kind of ambush? Was she being reprimanded? 

"Look, Ana, I don't know what you've heard but I don't have-"

"Angela is in a coma."

"What?"

Ana nodded regrettably, pursing her lips, and any sense of panic Moira had before was multiplied tenfold. She tightened her grip on her luggage, knuckles going blistering white, and she clenched her jaw so tightly she thought she was going to shatter her teeth.

Ana continued after a brief pause, "There was an explosion, on the mission. Angela was hit. She was rushed back to headquarters after being stabilized on the dropship, and she is in the medbay now."

Moira was at a loss, alarms firing off in her head, thoughts tearing her apart every which way. Her eyes searched frantically for something to focus on but found nothing, and her chest rose and fell furiously with each harsh breath she took. Time stopped and sped up and rewound all at the same time. Anything Ana said after that was drowned out by the sound of her heart hammering in her ears, each pulse of blood rushing through her brain sending a wooshing sound through her head. 

Moira dropped her bags and shoved passed Ana, breaking into a near sprint down the halls to the medbay.

She burst through the doors, red in the face a huffing, coughing, "Where is she. Angela. Where is she," she demanded to no one in particular. Medical personnel and nurses all turned to look at her, and time halted once more. It seemed to take a millenia for anyone to respond, and she wanted to scream at them but nothing would come out. 

One nurse nodded towards Moira and began walking to the private rooms, the redhead following anxiously behind until the door was presented to her. She paid no more mind to the nurse, bursting through the door immediately.

She stopped dead in her tracks a few steps in, the nurse clicking the door shut behind her as she took in the horrifying sight of Angela hooked up to wires and tubes, one tube down her throat. She was covered in bandages and bruises, and if it weren't for the beeping of the heart monitor Moira would think she's dead.

Hesitantly, she approaches her, brows furrowed and jaw tight, posture uncomfortably stiff and straight even for her. 

Realization begins to hit her. When did this happen? She heard the announcement for all personnel assigned to the mission to board the dropship as she was leaving. How long had Angela been in the medbay? When did the explosion happen? Was Moira buried knuckle deep in some woman as Angela was buried in rubble?

The thought that she could have been intimate with someone while Angela was near death made her stomach turn, a scowl presenting itself on her face from the taste of bile in her throat. She winces, closing her eyes and willing the thought from her brain long enough for something else to take its place. 

Their argument. 

The last time they spoke, aside from work related conversation, was a brutal fight. They screamed at one another, put their hands on each other violently. Angela told her she never wanted to speak to her again. Moira left.

And now Angela might get that wish.


	2. 2

On shaky legs, Moira stood by her bedside, regretful and pained red and blue fixated not on the wires and tubing, but on the peacefulness of her resting face, eyes closed and relaxed. Sure, she looked like hell, but Moira had never seen anyone so goddamn beathtaking in her entire life.

A slender hand reaches behind her to yank the stool as close as she could, positioning it under herself without taking her eyes off of her. Her elbows rest on the edge of the bed as one hand reaches to brush a strand of blonde from Angela's face, her eyes welling upon contact. God, how long has it been now since she's been able to touch her? How close did she come to never being able to touch her again? A wavering breath leaves her as she gives the weakest of regrettable smiles.

"I'm sorry-" was all she could muster at first and it came out in a whisper. She shakes her head, her disheveled red hair falling into her face as the tears spill over and silently cascade down her pale cheeks, "I'm so sorry."

Moira grabs Angela's hand and squeezes it tightly, apologetically, and places a few urgent kisses to the back. The silence of the room is deafening, save for the steady beeping of the heart monitor, until Moira can't take it anymore.

"I've been a fool," she lets out breathlessly, "I've taken you for granted. I desperately wish I could go back, do it differently. Treat you like you deserve to be treated. But...I can't. There's no turning back time, no fixing what I've done, no changing the past. But I will spend the remainder of my life trying to make it up to you. You just have to- you have to wake up, alright? You must. Just- please- pull through this, and I'll make things right between us. We can have a child- like you always wanted, yeah? We can have a family. We can grow old together. I'll cherish every moment, every second with you, like I should have before. Please just- don't leave me- I can't- I can't-"

Her words devolve into a choked sob, and Moira buries her face in the mattress to muffle her wailing, trying to avoid having a nurse come and see what's going on. 

She stays like that for some time, holding Angela's hand and rubbing soft circles in her flesh with the pad of her thumb. Once her throat is raw and her chest hurts and her tears run dry, she simply gazes at her former lover, ultimately thankful that she's alive. The sound of the heart monitor grew to be a comfort as the hours ticked by, concrete evidence that she still obtained a pulse. Every now and then a nurse came by to check on Angela, paying little mind to Moira beside her much to her relief. She didn't want to be acknowledged right now. She didn't want anyone to address the puffiness of her eyes and the sickly pale complexion of her skin, slick with anxiety sweat. She was a mess. She needed a shower. But leaving Angela's side was not an option.

Well, not an option she would willingly take. 

After a few hours, the door swings open again, Moira not lifting her head thinking it's just another nurse. The footsteps stop in their tracks, and it's silent for far too long before a familuar voice barks at her.

"What are you doing here?" 

Fareeha Amari stood in the doorway, a bouquet of flowers in her hands and a downright scowl on her face. Moira's head whipped towards the door before her eyes lock and then immediately avert from the other's. She wipes the dried tears with her wrist, and gives one sniffle before piping up in a weak, raw voice. 

"I'm visiting."

"She wouldn't want you here. Leave."

So Angela has told Fareeha about them hm? She shouldn't be surprised. Who else would she go to for comfort? Exactly what kind of comfort was she providing? A violent bubble of jealousy swirls in her stomach along with acrid bile. Her scowls back at her.

"I'm not leaving."

Fareeha steps closer, and Moira notices her tighten her grip on the flowers, "Leave, before I call security. Or should I make you leave myself?"

"I said I'm not fucking leaving-"

All of a sudden her arm is snatched by the other woman, a mere method of intimidation seeing as she had no intent of yanking or pulling. Moira though, had no intent of allowing her to be touched.

"Get your hands off of me-" she jerks her arm out of her grasp, shoving her back with what little strength she has as she stood from the stool to tower over her.

"Get out."

"I will not."

Fareeha nods, leaving the room for a moment. In those few seconds, Moira runs a hand through her hair and kneels down next to Angela, grabbing her hand once more. 

"I'm sorry."

The redhead plants a soft kiss to her forehead, and when she pulls back she hears multiple pairs of footsteps behind her. Reluctantly, she turns to meet Fareeha, who is accompanied by two security guards. 

"I told you I'm not leaving-"

"Miss O'Deorain-"

"Doctor O'Deorain-" she snaps at the guard.

"Let's go."

"Fuck off."

"Alright c'mon," one of the guards attempts to guide her out by her shoulder, Moira less than keen on the physical contact and returning her own form of physical contact, making a jab with her elbow to his side, thus prompting the other guard to step in and apprehend her, grabbing both wrists and twisting them behind her.

"Hey! Fuck- get the fuck off of me you vile cretin, fucking useless rent-a-cop motherfucker!" She fights against their grip, writhing and squirming and red in the face as she struggles to no avail. The guards move her out the door, passed a glaring Fareeha and into the hallway. Moira and the younger Amari cast a vicious scowl at one another before the guards escort her out of the medbay.

-

The remainder of her night was soaked in despair and regret and a hot anger, chased down with the warm fire of whiskey and the satisfying burn of countless cigarettes. The image of Angela lying there, nearly lifeless, hooked up to machines and battered and beaten was scarred into her mind. The rush of panic and anxiety that coursed through her body when Ana had told her lingered in the pit of her stomach. It'd probably help to eat something, but she couldn't fathom putting anything other than liquor inside of her. 

Once the bottle is drained she sighs and drags her hands through her hair. Greasy. She hauls herself onto wobbly knees and stumbles to the bathroom, stripping as she makes her way through her dorm and to the shower. Bony hands twist the knobs, and soon enough steam begins to flood the small room and she crawls inside. 

Too unstable to stay on her feet, she slides down the wall of the shower and plunks herself down, the scalding hot water pelting down onto her crumpled form. Fareeha's voice haunts her, 'What are you doing here?', the sentence replaying over and over.

What was she doing? It's been months. Angela's probably moved on. If the roles were reversed and Moira was laying in that hospital bed, would she have come to see her? She lets out a scoff at the thought. Less than likely. Perhaps she shouldn't have visited. Maybe she should have stayed away, just like Angela requested. Maybe she would have if she wasn't so weak.

Moira didn't notice when the tears started to spill from her stinging eyes, the rush of the shower washing them away, but she definitely noticed the sharp pain that struck inside of her chest, and she's sure everyone on her floor noticed the wretched sobs and cries that boomed and echoed through her dorm the remainder of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this is gonna be a lot longer than i originally intended so i hope yall enjoy it!


	3. 3

It's been weeks. Weeks since she was in the medbay, kneeling at Angela's side, weeping into the mattress next to her. Weeks since she was removed by security. Weeks since she's heard any news. Weeks since she felt like she could actually breathe without it feeling like a pained, sharp gasp. Each day that drove by was another day Angela didn't wake up, another day Moira would hold her breath for a call from the elder Amari. By weel two the usual poised redhead was a ragged mess, thinner than usual with designer bags under her bloodshot eyes. 

And how did she cope with the impending doom of probably loss looming over her? The same way any mentally ill, recluse scientist would. Drugs, alcohol and sex. 

The bar was busy, a Saturday night filled with patrons looking to lose their inhibitions and drink themselves sick, Moira being one of them. She skulks in the outer edges of the bar, sipping her whiskey neat, eyes sifting through the crowded room searching for a woman to go home with. A blonde woman. Any blonde woman. 

Already four drinks and multiple lines of coke in, she was feeling antsy. If she's idle for too long, her mind wanders. She wonders about Angela, about the future, about her outcome. She wonders about them, the past, and her regrets. She wonders if she should be in the lab, trying to figure out something that could wake her up. She's gone over these thoughts thousands of times now, any more time spent thinking about it is time wasted. 

Moira is still alive and awake, and she needs a distraction or she's going to lose her damn mind.

Finally, as she's knocking back the last of her drink, she spots a blonde with shoulder length hair. Her face was fine, but she's not too worried about it. It's going to be buried in the mattress soon enough anyways.

The redhead sets in on the prowl, eyeing her up from across the room like a starving wolf as she stalks through the crowd, weaving in and out of people and groups while her eyes stay locked on her target.

Moira approaches her from the front, knowing the woman wont be able to help but look at the tall, dashing redhead coming her way. 

Green eyes. Not ideal, but she'll just ignore it. 

Moira had always been good at sweet talking women, and this time proving to be much the same as her previous track record. A compliment here, a touch to the arm there, and of course bedroom eyes and one or two sexual innuendos, the ritual had the woman swooning, just as intended. They shared one more drink together until they left, The blonde hanging off of her arm as they took a short walk back to the other woman's home.

She didn't bother with names. Names were unimportant. Instead, the second the woman stepped foot into her apartment, Moira began tugging at her tie to slip it loose, eager to cut to the chase. She wasn't here to have a nice little chat, she was here to bury her worry into another woman, suffocate it in pleasure, drown out the thoughts with orgasm after orgasm. It was the only way she knew how to cope, the only thing that would make her brain shut the fuck up for a few hours.

And it did. For those few hours she was lost in ecstacy, both literally and metaphorically. Mind numbed but body stimulated from the drug, all she could do was feel the heat of the other's skin, the warmth of the woman's mouth between her legs as she rode to climax over and over again, muttering a faint whisper of 'Angela' absentmindedly on the third and final orgasm.

The woman wasn't exactly pleased with hearing another woman's name roll off of her tongue as she came in her mouth, and as quickly as the name tumbled from her lips the woman was out from underneath her, calling her rightfully rude things as she dressed in sleepwear and demanded Moira leave. 

And she did just that. Moira caught a cab back to base, not bothering to tip the driver, and slipped through the front doors of headquarters. She stumbled through the halls, a nightly occurance now, and against better judgement, found herself in the medbay at Angela's door. 

The door squeaks the tiniest bit as she slides inside, closing the door quietly behind her. She's not even sure why she's here, nothing's changed in weeks. She's still hooked up to wires and tubes, her bruises changing colour and evolving. Was her hair starting to grow? Moira stepped closer to examine her, taking Angela's hand into her own. Her nails need to be clipped. Maybe Moira would come back in the next few days in the middle of the night and fix them up. 

After a few minutes of just listening to the beeping of the heart monitor, Moira leans down to press a kiss to her forehead, being careful not to bump anything as she does. She caresses her cheek with a gentle hand, and wipes the tear away from her eye before heading back to her dorm. 

Moira stripped down from her haphazardly thrown on clothing, her gangly body collapsing into the bed. She hasn't had a good nights sleep in months. What's another night filled with terrors? She'll survive. Hopefully Angela will too, and when she wakes up they can try again. Moira can try harder. She can do better. Hopefully then she'll be able to rest peacefully, Angela next to her.

That thought brought the smallest bit of comfort, but it was enough for her to pass out quickly, launching her into horrid night terrors she found no escape from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moira? With unhealthy coping mechanisms? It's exactly as likely as you think.
> 
> Hope yall are enjoying this! Hell, even if you aren't, I definitely am.


	4. 4

Everything was white. The ground beneath her crunched as she made her way through the snow blanketed battlefield, booming sounds of war and terror striking from different directions, rattling her bones. There were injured agents everywhere, scattered amongst corpses from both organizations, Moira doing her best to keep as many alive as possible. 

She was running thin, getting dangerously low on her nanite supply, the frigid cold whipping across her cheeks, freezing her lashes. She could swear her fingers and toes were going numb, but there was no escape from the elements. Not for her, not for anyone. She ignored the sting in her hands and feet, trudging on against the wind, determined to make it back to the dropship. 

Another explosion erupted up ahead, shaking the ground under her, already desolate buildings crumbling as people screamed in horror and pain all around. Moira pushed forward, her tank of nanites sloshing as she ran towards the scene of the explosion, tending to wounded civilians and agents on the way. 

Moira skidded to a halt as she approached the site of damage, a mound of concrete and rubble where the large building used to be, bodies no doubt crushed underneath. Survivors? She can only hope. There has to be some. 

Fucking hell this mission was a complete failure. Just how many agents did Overwatch lose due to the negligence of the strike team leaders? Moira scoffed as she emptied her tank into one severely mangled agent, calling into her comm to notify for air retrieval. This man probably wouldn't make it. She shouldn't have wasted the last of her nanites. 

Moira keeps going, pressing further into the debris. She couldn't exactly heal anyone now, only minor wounds with bandages and the like, but something told her to investigate. Something pushed her, dragged her, toward the building that had caved in on itself.

She crossed through what used to be an entryway, and as soon as she set foot on the new rubble, her world spun. 

She sees wings. Angela's wings. Poking out from the concrete grave of fallen rocks and bricks and metal. Her heart stopped, eyes going wide, lungs strangled as she tries to speak but no words come out. Moira's long, lean legs turned to rubber, wavering under her slight weight, stomach churning and threatening to throw up the granola bar she ate earlier. She tells herself to move, screams at herself inside of her head, tries to will the muscles to contract but nothing happens. Why was she stuck? Why couldn't she save her? 

Finally, she lurches forward, the unexpectancy causing the weak and rattled redhead to stumble to her knees at the pile of debris. Tired hands desperately pull at the rubble, tossing it aside as best as she could, tears drenching her face and creating tracks in the dust and soot. Her voice is pleading, pathetically uneven, telling her to hold on just a bit longer. Begging to God that she's still alive under there.

At last, she reaches the shoulder plating, red and blue going wide and frantic as she clears Angela's upper body free of rubble, pressing two fingers to her throat to feel for a pulse. 

It was so goddamn difficult to tell if it was her own pulse or Angela's. She shakes her head, and holds her breath, trying again.

Nothing.

There's nothing.

Moira presses her ear to Angela's chest, then her lips. Nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Until she hears that voice, sweet like honey, but it's not coming from the corpse of her ex lover in her arms. It's behind her.

Her head whips around, complexion a sickly white as she blinks a few times. Angela was there, although, much more ethereal than usual. Almost...angelic, dressed in white and gold robes, a halo hovering above her head. 

"Ange- Angela--" 

"You weren't here to save me-" any more sweetness in her voice was drained into a cold, accusatory tone, her face staying eerily expressionless as she stepped toward Moira and the lifeless shell of Angela's body, "I could have died. And where were you? Bedding some blonde in placement of me."

Moira winced, finding the body in her arms turned to dust and ashes once she looked down. Panicked, rapid breaths leave her between sobs and wails and gasps as she pushes herself over the rubble as far as she was able until her back hit a wall. The angelic figure merely stared at her, unphased by the redhead's frenzy of grief.

"Was she satisfying? Did she fill that dark pit in your chest as deeply as you filled the space between her legs? Or were you selfish? You certainly were when we were together, even if it wasn't intimately-"

"Stop it-"

"You weren't here. You couldn't save me. You're a failure, Moira O'Deorain-"

"I said stop it!" Moira snarled at the figure, launching herself to her feet to grab at her to no avail. Her hands pushed through as if she were a ghost, and she toppled over to the ground again, hitting with a hard jolt to her palms as everything goes dark.

When she comes to she's in her bed, gasping for air in a pool of her own sweat, still inebriated from the night before. How many times was she going to have this nightmare? She gives her head a small smack with her palm, trying to shake herself out of the post-terror fog. Should she take another sick day? God, what does it even matter anymore. She sends a quick text notifying of her upcoming absence today, and reluctantly hauls her tired body off the bed and into the bathroom to vomit into the toilet. The image staring back at her in the mirror is ghastly. Her cheeks were beginning to sink in, her eyes looked hollow and empty, her hair a matted mess. She hardly recognized herself, and she wonders if Angela would have trouble recognizing her too. 

Moira gripped the counter's edge as she stared at the shell of herself in the mirror, sickened with what she sees. With a scowl, she takes a towel from the rack and hangs it over the mirror before she leans down and turns on the tap, funneling water into her mouth directly. Her thirst was undying, and after about thirty seconds of guzzling back water, she decides it's a losing game. She'd never be quenched.

She drags herself back to bed and gets in on the other, dry side, burying her face in the pillow to make another hopeless attempt at sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont mind me, im just in my own little angst world right now. 
> 
> I do want to say that as much as im enjoying sharing this work here, the only reason i even considered writing a fic was because my very good friend inspired me to. None of this would exist without her. I want her to have that recognition, even if she remains nameless.
> 
> Anyways, i barely know what im doing with this and i dont really have a clear endgame in sight, but i promise it wont *all* be angst. Just gotta be patient~~


	5. 5

The next few weeks aren't much different, every day bringing more anxiety than the last. More emotions, more thoughts to drown out. More alcohol. More drugs. 

She was forced to take a weeks leave from work due to her inconsistancies. Well, let's call it for what it is, a suspension. Without the distraction of work in her daily schedule she had more time on her hands, more time to think about Angela, more time to try and forget.

The worst part is that she doesn't even want to forget. She just wants Angela to wake up.

She felt utterly helpless waiting, just as she did those first couple weeks, and she found her mind wandering to the scientific side of things more often. Her focus began to shift slowly but surely, the sickly looking redhead spending less time ignoring her problems and facing them head on instead. Emotionally detatching from the situation all together wasn't possible, but the more she saw Angela's state as a project the easier it was to tackle.

The week away from the lab came and went far too slowly for the impatient geneticist, who spent the time researching about comas extensively. She went over many papers and thesis', theories and studies until her eyes felt like they were on fire and her thumb was raw from turning pages, determined to gather any and all information that might help her find a direction. Studies were varied. Some showed that sleeping medications such as Zolpidem showed promise, some other stated an electromagnetic implant to the brain can stimulate consciousness, others talked about dopamine having positive effects, but none of these were sure fire enough to satisfy Moira. She wanted to be absoutely positive that if she administers something that it isn't going to backfire or harm her in any way.

Making sure it's untraceable is another issue. Overwatch medical staff don't skim over details and it will be a tremendous task to slip this passed them. If she's caught the consequences will be overwhelming, she couldn't afford to have anything go wrong, not when her career is already hanging on by a thread. There are, of course, alternative sources of funding she can seek out, but her reputation is still at stake from all angles. 

Finally, her suspension was up and she could get back to work, actually do something with the plans she had fleshed out. She decided to try electromagnetic therapy which was, unfortunately, out of her wheelhouse. She would need assistance with this, whether she likes it or not, and if she can't get it here, well...there are other people she can contact, as elusive as they can be. One in particular is practically a ghost. A glitch in the system. But seeing as though she may have the technology and knowhow to go about this sort of thing, she may be her best bet. It's not like Moira knows any neurosurgeons hanging around. 

Time was running short. Angela has been unconcious for nearly four weeks, and complications were looming. Already, if she were to wake up right this second, the recovery and rehabilitation she's going to have to go through won't be easy. Confusion, diminished motor function, anger, among other things were sure to be present. If she goes much longer...

Moira shakes herself out of her unproductive worrying, pulling her personal laptop from her leather bag. She had to contact Sombra. It's been a while since they've seen each other, but she was given coded contact information on an encrypted server, in case Moira ever needed a 'favour'.

Moira knew this would come at a price, but she was willing to pay. Money was no object, and so long as she stayed on Sombra's good side her secrecy is golden. 

Moira's web browser was automatically incognito, needing as little trail of her online searches as possible. She types the web address into the searchbar and hits enter, a new screen brightening up her screen immediately requesting a passcode, which she promptly clicks in. 

After a few moments the screem changes again, going black with a very boxy green text she thought they only used in films and television. How stereotypical, she thought. 

-  
[50m8r4://:UNKNOWNIDENTIFICATION// has joined the chat]

[UNIDENTIFIED726308:// has joined the chat]

[50m8r4://:UNKNOWNIDENTIFICATION// says: Ahh mi amiga~ it's been a while, si?]

[UNIDENTIFIED726308:// says: I need your assistance.]

[50m8r4://:UNKNOWNIDENTIFICATION// says: ahahaa i figured as much. Tell me what you need.]

[UNIDENTIFIED726308:// says: well i ah. You are obviously aware of Angela Ziegler. She is in a coma currently and I am trying to figure out a way to wake her up that's undetectable and safe. I read about electromagnetic therapy, and it got me wondering whether you have some kind of technology that would allow stimulation to her brain without implantation.]

[50m8r4://:UNKNOWNIDENTIFICATION// says: ooooooooh interesting. Ziegler is in a coma? I wonder if it was our friends that put her there...]

[UNIDENTIFIED726308:// says: please, not right now. Just tell me if you can help and how long it will take you.]

[50m8r4://:UNKNOWNIDENTIFICATION// says: jeez impatient much? I know shes your girlfriend but cool it on the demands, si? I can help. But you know itll cost you.]

[UNIDENTIFIED726308:// says: yes of course. Name your price.]

[50m8r4://:UNKNOWNIDENTIFICATION// says: we can figure that all out afterwards. Sounds like you dont have much time, amiga. Send me any work youve done on this so far and ill get back to you in a few weeks, si?]

[UNIDENTIFIED726308:// says: I dont have a few weeks. I need it within the next few days. What will it cost me? You know i can pay.]

[50m8r4://:UNKNOWNIDENTIFICATION// says: lo siento, amiga, the best i can do is a week.]

[UNIDENTIFIED726308:// says: please. Im not fucking around. Get me the device within the next few days and I'll pay whatever you want, do whatever you want.]

[50m8r4://:UNKNOWNIDENTIFICATION// says: hmmm interesting. I suppose i can pull some strings. Since we're friends, si?]

[UNIDENTIFIED726308:// says: thank you. Thank you. Let me know when its ready and where to go for pickup. Im in Zurich.]

[50m8r4://:UNKNOWNIDENTIFICATION// says: oh i know where you are. I can have it delivered by someone verrrrry good at getting in and out of places quickly. He can drop it off at a location, which ill forward to you in a minute. As for payment? Lets just call this one a favor.]

[UNIDENTIFIED726308:// says: id really feel better if i paid for your services.]

[50m8r4://:UNKNOWNIDENTIFICATION// says: ayyy dont worry about it this time, amiga. Ill be in touch.]

[50m8r4://:UNKNOWNIDENTIFICATION// has left the chat.]  
-

And now she was back to waiting. 

Having Sombra refuse her payment was worrying. Nobody was good enough friends with her to get out of things for free, and she would undoubtedly owe her for this. But that could be dealt with later, right now she needs Angela to live and wake up and be okay. 

Moira takes a deep breath and cracks her knuckles, then shifts her neck from side to side to release two loud pops. She was making progress. Now to try and focus her mind on Overwatch projects she'd fallen behind on this past month as she wallowed and wasted away.

The day came and went, conpleting mounds of paperwork and revisions to a project she had been working on before all of this happened. It felt good to get back to work, to have a distraction, but when it came time to head back to her dorm for the evening she found it difficult to tear herself away. If she stopped working she would start worrying. 

To quell that worry she chose not to return to her dorm immediately. Her feet took a detour, bringing her down to the medbay for a quick visit. Nobody was ever around at this hour, which was more than preferable for the standoffish scientist. She wanted her privacy with Angela, without listening ears and prying eyes. 

It was quiet as she entered, the nurses becoming very familiar with her night time visits to the point where they hardly bat an eyelash when she helps herself into Angela's room. Again, preferable. 

She took the seat next to her much too comfortably, this scene so familiar now. Most nights she found herself down here, just sitting and watching, holding her hand. Just having her company and hearing her breathe and knowing she was still alive in that moment brought Moira comfort. And tonight she was able to speak without feeling guilt, telling her about the method she's going to try, that she was going to help her. That she couldn't wait to see her gorgeous blue eyes again, and hear her voice.

Tears were spilled during her visit, as usual, and she wiped them away with a sniffle and a sigh as she looked at her angel with too much emotion. Angela's hair had definitely grown now. So had Moira's. She hadn't bothered styling it since Angela went under, and it had slipped her mind to visit her stylist and get it cleaned up with everything going on. There was still too much going on to worry about herself. She could do that when Angela is awake.

An hour passes by, then another, until finally Moira lifts herself to her feet. Just as she did every night she visited, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the blonde's forehead and whispered a hushed 'I love you' before she left the room with one last glance and headed back to her empty, cold dorm room to toss and turn until she passed out from exhaustion, plunging into those awful nightmares she hated so much.

Hopefully now they would start to change for the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moira doing illegal things to help angela really gets to me
> 
> Sombra was so interesting to write and i hope i didnt butcher her lmao
> 
> Give me feedback and comments! Your support feels nice


	6. 6

Four days pass before she hears from Sombra. Moira had gotten worried she bailed on the request, or that it took more time than she had originally thought, but by some grace of God she was proven wrong. Now she was to pick up the package from one of Sombra's contacts here in Zurich once night falls. 

Moira sends a thank you message to her saviour and cards her hands through her hair, letting out a deep sigh of relief. But with this relief comes new concerns. 

How did it work? Was it even going to work? Was it safe? Would it be detectable by the medical staff? She'd remember to ask Sombra all these questions later once she has the device in hand. 

But until then, it was another round of the waiting game. A game Moira so very much despised. Idle hands are the devil's workshop, so an idle brain must be something far more sinister.

On a usual day off Moira would be drinking, which she was, and reading or playing her fiddle, which she lacked inspiration to do since her muse slipped unconscious. A normal weekend would also possibly see her out and about, flirting with women, and going back to their home to fuck them until they can't even speak. 

This was far from a normal weekend. Nothing had been normal for a month. Not her sleep schedule, not her eating habits, not her work. This weekend would change that, hopefully, if Sombra knows what she's doing. Please dear God, let Sombra know what she's doing. 

Moira couldn't relax enough to enjoy the few hours she had before she was to pick up her delivery. She tried listening to music, getting halfway through her favourite David Bowie album before growing restless and switching the record to her favourite Queen album, which she sifted through and selected a few songs before becoming antsy again. 

She tried to read, but her brain wasn't absorbing the words her eyes glossed over.

Ultimately, she decided it best to just do chores. Her dorm was a goddamn nightmare, and she was running low on food, and God help her if she has to resort to the cafeteria food. Moira would rather eat her own hand than choke on the dry, bland scrambled eggs and burnt bacon in the morning. Especially after struggling with her appetite during all of this. No, she needed to pick up a few things and have a real meal instead of a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of whiskey for dinner every night. She's been surviving off of granola bars mostly, the occasional oatmeal, and as a result she grew even thinner than she was before. Her cheeks were gaunt, ribs protruding out, arms looking like twigs. It was concerning now that she was starting to come out of the fog, taking notice of the new boldened sharpness of each bone and curve, how malnourished she had become.

If she was to help Angela, she needed at least some strength. A stew would be a good hearty meal to start her off, with a buttered bun on the side, complete of course with her glass of whiskey. It didn't sound appetizing right now, but she hopes when she smells the stew brewing it'll coax her stomach to accept it.

Moira gets dressed with minimal effort, not bothering with a tie or her shaggy hair, and calls a cab. The driver is quiet, doesn't engage in conversation, and before long she's at the grocery store picking out vegetables and broth and stewing meatand a pint of Guinness. She grabs another two boxes of granola bars while she's at it. It felt odd being out, doing something as simple as buying groceries, and her anxiety was on edge, but she kept her focus until she was back safely in her dorm and prepping the stew. 

The scent of the cooking stew was comforting and familiar, rich and savoury, and for the first time in forever she's actually looking forward to eating. 

With the stew prepped and rolling away, she now had a few hours to kill before she was to pick up the device. Lucky her. 

She struggles to stay occupied the entire time, leg bouncing and mind racing as she browsed the internet, idly looking through articles surrounding the science of comas, scanning over her notes as well. When she was through with that, she decided to leave a little early to grab a coffee somewhere along the way. 

She headed into the cold, catching a cab much like she did earlier, only this time she wasn't going grocery shopping, she was retrieving a device to bring Angela back to her. She wishes she didn't wait so long to do this, that she wasn't foolish holding out hope that maybe she'd wake up the next day, or the day after. Moira curses herself for not acting sooner, and she worries about the condition she'll be in when she finally does wake.

She gets out two blocks from where she's supposed to meet her contact, spotting a café down the street bathed in the glow of streetlights and dusted with snow. The door jingles when she enters, and she orders an extra hot black coffee to go. 

Her coffee is handed off to her, and she gives a small nod of aporeciation before braving the cold once more, walking with purpose to her destination. 

'Down the alleyway, behind the building, through the second door on your right', were the instructions Sombra had sent her, and she followed them exactly. The directions brought her into a small room with a safe, nothing more. 

Moira knelt down, spinning the dial and entering the code carefully before pulling the handle and swinging the door open. Inside sat a briefcase, which Moira assumed carried the device that would save the love of her life. She took a deep breath and cracked her knuckles, pulling the briefcase out and shutting the door of the safe with a 'click' before exiting the room and heading back to her dorm.

The transaction had gone entirely smooth, no hiccups along the way, no worries present. Instead, Moira felt hope. Hope that she'd be able to see Angela's bright blue eyes again, hear her voice. 

Butterflies of nervous excitement flutter in her stomach as she pulls her keycard to swipe over the sensor, her door hissing open and falling shut behind her. She opened the briefcase, and inside was an immense amount of padding, with a small device in the center. Sombra was kind enough to leave extremely detailed instructions, along with assurance that it would undoubtedly work and that it was safe. She had it tested by another 'friend' of hers. 

Moira breathed a heavy sigh of relief and carded her hands through her hair, fiddling with the device and making sure she understood what she was doing, spending a few hours with it before she bit the bullet and slipped it into her pants pocket, heading down to Angela's room. 

The walls seemed whiter than usual, quieter too. Maybe it was the adrenaline rushing in her ears, pumping her heart, moving her legs at a brisk pace. She had to remind herself not to draw attention, no matter how badly she wanted to sprint down the hallway. 

Soon enough she was inside, door locked behind her. Angela looked the same as usual, still hooked up to the machines keeping her alive, still pale, the heart monitor comfortingly beeping away. 

Moira smiled softly at her, then took her usual seat beside her, placing her hand over Angela's. This was it. She hoped to God it worked, and a hot rush of anxiety overtook her at the thought of it failing.

But she took a deep, slow breath, and pressed a kiss to Angela's cheekbone before pulling the device out of her pants pocket.

Hesitantly she brought the device to Angela's forehead, pressing it against her. Moira had no idea how this worked, for all she knew it could be bogus and Sombra was fucking with her, but she flicked the switch and waited.

And she waited, and waited and waited. 

The entire time she waited she held her breath, and she was certain she was starting to turn red from the lack of oxygen. Her jaw was clenched like a vice, and her brows furrowed with deep creases between them, eyes searching Angela for any sign of consciousness, but nothing came. Not even a flinch. 

After about two minutes with the device against her forehead, Moira pulls it away in defeat, swallowing hard and standing from her stool to pace the small room. 

Moira closed her eyes tightly and shook her head, bringing a shaky hand up to rub at her welling eyes, her other hand resting on her hip after slipping the useless device back into her pocket. 

She failed. She failed Angela. Her time was running out. Moira couldn't save her. Just like in her nightmares. Just like-

A small sound snatched Moira's full attention from behind her, head whipping around nearly fast enough to break her neck, mismatched eyes wide and focused like a dear in headlights.

Only the headlights weren't headlights at all. 

Angela's hand weakly attempted to grip at the bedsheets, doing nothing more than giving off the faintest sound of nails on cotton. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make Moira's heart stop right there.  
She rushes back to her side in two large strides, immediately reaching for the slightly moving hand and giving a tight squeeze, "Angela? Angela, can you hear me?" She asks, hopeful but not expectant. 

When she felt the gentlest of squeezes back she let out something between a groan, whimper and a sigh of complete and utter relief and success. She felt like she was going to throw up, emotion swirling in her stomach like a hurricane, but let the emotion expel through a steady stream of tears instead. 

"Fuck- fuck! I'm here, I'm here, darling. I love you. I'm sorry. You're going to get through this, I promise."

The redhead brought the other's hand to her lips, pressing kisses to her palm. She knew she had to notify a nurse, but just needed a few moments with her alone before they begin their tests and shoo her out of the room.

After a few minutes of soft words being spoken by the geneticist, she finally presses the nurse call button, and almost immediately two nurses are rushing through the door.

Moira explains to them that Angela moved, how she moved, how extreme of a movement it was. They asked her if there was anyrhing else, and Moira swallowed thickly and replied with a 'no' of conviction. 

The tall redhead stood once more, being ushered out by one nurse and told to get some rest. Moira must look dreadful, she hasn't looked in a mirror for days, but none of that mattered.

Angela was waking up, slowly but surely. And for the first time in her life, she might actually believe in God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope yall are havin as many feelings as i am right now lmao


	7. 7

As badly as Moira wanted to wake up in the morning and rush straight to Angela's room in the medbay, she knew Fareeha would be there during the day and thought it best to keep her distance if she wants to keep seeing Angela. 

So the next day she goes into the lab, runs her tests on the pair of rats she's been working with, catches up on paperwork, and responds to a few emails she's been ignoring. All in all, her day was uneventful but productive, her anxiety had subsided somewhat, and she was able to focus more than usual. It was nice. It was normal. Except for the absence of Angela bursting through the doors to berate her, which she found she actually missed quite a bit.

She sighed as she tidied her desk and tucked her laptop into her bag. It was still a little early for her to go and visit Angela, and she was still worried about her being there, but she needed to see her. She needs to know if progress has been made, and how much, and if there are any other symptoms from the device that weren't there before. 

She was lucky enough not to run into anyone on the way to the medbay. No one of importance, at least. The medbay was busy enough for her to slip into Angela's room without a word from a nurse, and just like every other day, she was still hooked up to machines. 

All expect the endotracheal intubator. 

Moira's heart skipped. She was breathing on her own. That was an incredibly good sign. As she places herself on the stool she's become very well aquainted with, she pushes the call button next to Angela and two nurses rush in, much like the night before. Moira assures them everyrhing is fine, but pushes them for answers to various questions. Did she open her eyes? Did she speak at all? Did she move? How was her brain activity? 

No, no, yes, and mediocre but better than before. 

Okay, she's been moving. That was a comfort, a promising step in the roght direction. Moira felt her heart swell with gratefulness and relief, and she thanked the nurses for the information before they departed to tend to another patient. 

Just as she always did, she grabbed Angela's hand and squeezed, and this time the response was almost immediate, but just as faint as the evening prior. 

Still, it caused Moira to lean in close and whisper that she was there for her and that she loved her, that everything was going to be okay. It was odd saying the words and actually believing it this time, but Moira wasn't going to complain. It was the most satisfying odd feeling in the world.

Moira spends only about a half hour with Angela before the door swings open, Fareeha walking in with a stern glare toward the redhead.

"I was so sure I made it clear that she wouldn't want you here, Doctor O'Deorain."

Moira doesn't even acknowledge fhe woman, keeping her eyes on Angela and the rise and fall of her chest, "Mm. What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

Fareeha scoffed loudly and crossed her arms over her chest, "That is exactly one of the many reasons she broke up with you, you know-"

"She didn't break up with me," Moira corrected through gritted teeth, offended that she even had the audacity to bring up Moira snd Angela's secret relationship in person, "It was a mutual decision to end our relationship."

The younger woman's brows furrowed, "Then why are you here? You don't love her anymore."

"I do-" Moira was starting to lose her temper, and she let go of Angela's hand so that she didn't accidently break her bones, "Not that it's any of your damn business, and frankly, I'm not particularily interested in discussing my personal life with you." 

Moira was finally staring at Fareeha now, a viscious scowl on her sharp features as her leg bounced furiously to calm her nerves. It wasn't working very well, evident by the lightness she felt in her limbs, the heat that bubbled in her veins.

"You hurt her, Moira. Do you really think she's just going to wake up and take you back? That it's going to be like it is in the movies? No, she's already going to have enough stress when she wakes up fully, you can't be there. I won't let you."

Moira shoots to her feet, intimidatingly encroaching on Fareeha's space, "Who the fuck are you to tell me what I can and can't do?!" She barks at her, feeling the heat radiate through her body. God she wants to hit her, but she knows the other woman spends significantly more time in the gym than she does, and even in this angered state she knows better than to initiate a physical fight between them. 

But that doesn't mean she can't yell at her.

"You're just a sad, pathetic little rebound. I saw her with you only a few days after we had broken up, her new chew toy. I wonder how long it'll take her to get bored of you, hm? I give it another month after she wakes up at the most."

"Oh, that's what you think, huh? I'm Angela's girlfriend, not a rebound. We have a serious relationship and a strong bond, and I plan on asking her to marry me once she's fully conscious again. I almost lost her, and I don't want that to ever happen again. You need to move on, O'Deorain, because she has."

Fareeha's tone was calm but firm, just like her damn mother's. Moira rolled her eyes and let out a laugh when she's told about the supposed proposal. How long had they been dating? 

"You've been together for five minutes and you're going to ask her to marry you? You can't be serious-"

"Oh, I am serious. I love her, and I treat her how she should be treated. With respect and thoughtfulness, not just sex and gifts as apologies." 

Moira growled and huffed, her anger spilling over, a hand coming out to shove Fareeha back against the door, "Don't act like you know anything about our relationship. It's quite clear you know absolutely nothing and I'm not keen on the idea of bringing you up to speed."

"You don't have to. Angela's told me all I need to know about you. Now, I think you should leave," she opens the door behind her and steps aside, waiting for Moira to exit, her eyes trained on the tall, lanky woman. 

Moira shook her head and bit her cheek, a look of exasperation and fury on her tired features. She gives Angela a glance before stepping to the door, and she hesitates, facing the other.

"You're nothing but something to fill the void I left."

Fareeha smirked, "I don't understand how she could ever feel something for someone like you."

"Funny, I was going to say the same about you."

"Get out."

"Very well." 

And with that she set off down the hall, storming her way through base as she cursed under her breath and blew passed people that scrambled to get out of the raging geneticist's way. 

She makes it back to her room and she tosses her bag onto the bed and paces the small space furiously, fists clenching and jaw grinding until she snaps, a flow of anger erupting from her and sending her fist flying against her wall.

She repeats the motion again.

And again, and again, and again until finally she feels the snap of bone and the ache of a fracture shooting up her arm. She lets out another string of curses, Fareeha's name slipping in between them, and she sits exhausted on her bed, huffing and puffing and wincing from the very apparent pain in her right hand.

She sighs and pulls her other hand through her hair. This has to be set before she can try to rest and calm down. 

Reluctantly and with a groan, she hauls herself up and heads back to the medbay, a nurse immediately taking her into the back to get patched up. Moira gives as little explanation as possible and stays quiet throughout. Once finished, she retreated back to her room once again, thankful she didn't run into Fareeha on the way.

She pops a few pain pills that she had been prescribed, washing it down with whiskey. Sleep wouldn't find her for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its cute that yall thought the angst was over


	8. 8

The next week went by much too slowly, Moira seeming to count the minutes as they ticked by, waiting to witness larger signs of improvement from her sleeping beauty. She visited her every night at around three in the morning, not particularily wishing to have another run in with Fareeha. She despised sneaking around like this. Sneaking around was only fun when sex was involved, and at this point that was the farthest thing from her mind. She only wanted Angela safe and recovered, and it was going to be some time before the latter came to be. 

Moira was used to staying in the shadows though, and rather linger on the fact that she feels she has to hide away from the younger Amari, she sees the bright side of having Angela to her own for hours on end. No interruptions, no looming threat of Fareeha intruding and bathing her in disgust. Oh, how Moira loathed her. What did Angela even see in her? 

Would she say yes if Fareeha asked her?

What if Moira asked?

She shakes herself out of that thought quickly. With how their relationship ended, throwing a proposal at her would only piss her off more. That wasn't how she had to approach this. But how does she approach this? How does she make things up to Angela with Fareeha in the goddamn way all the time? She racked her brain for answers and went over multiple scenarios, all of them coming out horribly. That would have to be a work in progress, unfortunately. 

First things first, Angela has to be fully conscious first. Over the week she had moved her hands a bit, whimpered, groaned, and lulled her eyes. It felt like a painfully slow process but it was progress nonetheless. She caught a glipse of that bright blue, though currently dulled, and she heard her heavenly voice, though rough and hoarse and weak. Her body was in extremely rough shape, but it was fighting. If there was anyone that was going to come out of a month long coma and still have enough brain activity to be functioning, it was Angela. 

But all in all, things were going smoothly. Moira was working more, though her eating habits still haven't recovered, and she was drinking in abundance, but she had felt more productive than she had the past month. Things were slowly getting better, and each day Angela showed signs of improvement, Moira improved as well.

Feeling a bit tired that ecening she chose to go and visit Angela a bit earlier than usual, around midnight this time. She would keep this visit short, seeing as how she had a presentation to make tomorrow and if she blew it she could say goodbye to God only knows how much funding. She had to get at least some rest tonight, so she brouvht herself down to Angela's room, gaining a nod from one of the nurses upon entry to the medbay. Every time she came down here she felt lighter, and when she walked through the door she stopped dead in her tracks.

Fareeha was sitting in Moira's usual seat, holding Angela's hand like Moira usually did, and her eyes shot to the doorway where Moira stood, narrowing immediately. 

Oh, great, just who she wanted to fucking see.

"No, get out-" 

Moira steps further in so the door can close behind her, irritated red and blue locked on her opponent, "You are not going to deprive me from seeing her any longer, Amari."

Fareeha stood, leaving Angela's hand and glared the redhead down, putting herself between the two other women protectively, "You need to leave, O'Deorain. We aren't doing this right now."

"Yes, we are," Moira steps toward her and stands tall, using her height to her advantage, "Angela matters to me whether you believe it or not and I have a right to see-"

"You lost that right when she ended things with you-"

Moira rashly grabs Fareeha's shirt collar, giving her a shake as she shoves her backwards further into the room while retaining her grip on the fabric, "You don't know a goddamn thing about our relationship!" 

Fareeha grabs at Moira's thin wrist, prying herself from the woman's grip with a shove back, "Quiet!" She snaps at her.

"Stop telling me what to do!"

"...Moira?"

The voice that whispered her name did not come from Fareeha's lips. 

Moira spun around, ignoring Amari's presence completely as her eyes go wide and her stomach drops. Did she imagine that? She turns to look at Fareeha again to gauge her reaction. She looked disappointed, defeated, and beyond frustrated.

"No-" the voice rang again, quietly, but Moira was staring at Angela and watching her lips move just enough to know for certain it came from her.

And in a second Moira was at Angela's side, not bothering with the stool and just kneeling next to the bed, reaching for her hand, "I'm here, darling, I'm here," she whispers breathlessly, hope welling in her mismatched stare.

Angela's hand jerked away upon contact, blonde brows furrowed, and a whine left her as she weakly shook her head, *"No-" * she repeated, voice strangled and dry, *"No, no, no-"

She looked like she was crying, and Moira's sure if she was properly hydrated she would be, and her heart sank at the realization that Angela wasn't glad she was here. It wasn't the reunion she pictured or the moment she had desperately hoped for. It wasn't anything. And it was made perfectly clear by the way Angela's frail hand recoiled at Moira's touch.

Moira felt a firm hand on her shoulder, and a stern voice in her ear, "You're upsetting her and she's already in bad shape, I'm not going to ask again, O'Deorain."

"Just give me one more minute-" 

Fareeha was finished waiting, yanking Moira to her feet and directing her towards the door as the older woman fought her grasp. Moira was no physical match whatsoever, easily being overpowered but putting up a struggle none the less. 

The redhead stumbles and loses her footing, crashing to the floor face first, Amari's hands still wrapped around Moira's wrists behind her back. Fareeha yelled for security as she straddled Moira's legs, intent on keeping her there until security was able to haul her away. In which time Moira swore and cursed and begged the barely conscious Angela to tell Fareeha to get off of her. She frantically hollered she was sorry and that things would be different this time and to just give her another chance, but it all fell on nearly deaf ears. 

Before she knew it, Moira was being dragged out by security, lip bloodied and swollen from breaking her fall, tears staining her flushed cheeks as she looked back to see the door close.

She cursed and yelled and rose to her feet, tucking her shirt back in and storming off, away from the staring eyes of everyone in the medbay, away from the room full of her crushed hopes. 

She stomped through the door and whipped her phone at the wall with a grunt then proceeded to sweep her desk off aggressively, fueled by rage and heartbreak and disappointment, her lamp and laptop smashing against the floor. Her fury still not sated, she kicked her desk chair over and flipped the coffee table as she yelled her throat raw.

Huffing and puffing with exhaustion, finally her hurricane was over and she crumpled onto the bed in a tight ball, digging her nails into her own arms. 

This wasn't what was supposed to happen. This wasn't the happy ending she wanted. But was it the ending she deserved? Moira dwelled on that thought as she cried herself to a sleep riddled with nightmares, reignited full force by the events of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not sorry for the pain <3


	9. 9

A month came and went, and just as Fareeha had said, she had proposed. 

Word traveled quickly about their engagement, Lena Oxton making sure everyone on base had heard the 'good news'. Of course, Moira wasn't told by anyone, she had just eavesdropped in on a conversation about Angela in the cafeteria, trying her damndest not to throw her tray of food across the room. The news didn't come as a shock, but it was a severe disappointment, a loss, another failure under Moira's belt. She found herself on edge in a completely different way now, no longer worried about Angela's death but angry to her rotten core. Jealousy was infested throughout her body and mind, and her blood boiled any time she heard mention of either one of them.

Angela's rehabilitation and the engagement were the biggest pieces of news the base has had in eons. How Angela was defying all the odds, recovering function in multiple areas at a remarkable rate. She wasn't out of the woods yet, from what Moira had caught wind of, but she was learning how to walk again by the end of her first month awake. Her relief and gratefulness were swallowed by the pit of hatred and jealousy, scoffing and rolling her eyes and clenching her jaw whenever someone brought her up. 

Perfect little Mercy and her well behaved fiancee who dotes at her side and and has her head up Mercy's ass. God, it makes Moira sick, churns her stomach until its a hot bubbling cauldron. Knowing it was Fareeha aiding in her rehabilitation caused her heart to ache as well, especially since Moira is the whole reason she woke up in the first place. It should be her by Angela's side.

Bitter would be a dramatic understatement.

\- 

Another month passes by, and Moira's downward spiral was in full swing. When she wasn't drowning herself in work she was drowning herself in whiskey and women, much like she was when she found out Angela was in a coma. Except now she wasn't. She was awake and engaged and slipping between Moira's fingers by the second, the future she promised getting farther and farther away. She was just so goddamn angry at how all of this turned out, angry at Angela for not even giving her the time of day, angry at Fareeha for being in the way. But most of all, she was furious with herself, for mot being better when she had the chance.

Moira worked late into the night, emptying a bottle as she typed away and sucking back a pack of smokes while she was at it. She leans back in her chair and stretches her arms, then rolls her neck from side to side before rubbing at her tired eyes, the words blurring together on the bright screen. She lets out a deep sigh that blended into a groan and cards her hands through her hair before slamming her laptop shut and rising to her feet on unstable legs.

A slender hand grabbed the bottle she had been working on and the other swiped her keycard from the desk. Her drunken mind wouldn't stop badgering her with thoughts of her, why she wouldn't even entertain giving her a second chance, why she said yes to Fareeha, and her feet carried her quickly out of her office and to Angela's room. She wanted answers. She,xs wsited long enough. Angela was well enough now to give her goddamn answers.

She stumbled through the halls of base until she landed in front of Angela's door and as she swayed in her spot her knuckles loudly smacked against it. Ten seconds go by without a response, and she slams her fist agsinst the door with more conviction, not stopping until it hissed open, Angela looking at her sleepily from the bed, a dim lamp illuminating her in a yellow glow. 

"Moira?! It's four in the morning! What do you think you're-"

"I don' care wha' time it is, Ange, I need ta' talk to ya'-"

"Are you drunk?"

Moira stumbles her way through the doorway, the door closing behind her making Angela grip the blankets tighter, "So what if I am? Not like ya' give a shite about me-"

Angela snapped back, cutting her off again, "I'm not doing this now, Moira. You need to leave."

Every memory of Fareeha telling her to leave rushed to forefront of Moira's mind, fuelling her movements as she stalked toward the other, agitation brimming, "I was there every damn night, Ange, I was there and I didn't know if you were gonna' make it and I was scared. I deserve some recognition. I deserve at least some fuckin' closure after worryin' m'self sick for a goddamn month."

Angela sat with a stern, reserved look on her usually soft features as Moira slurred through her thoughts openly. The blonde took offence when Moira said she 'deserves recognition', and Moira could see her distaste grow the longer she went on. Finally finished with her speel, Angela took a sharp breath in and the redhead swayed in the dark lighting of the room waiting for answers.

"Recognition? You think you deserve recognition? For what, Moira? For choosing to visit me when you were under no obligation to do so? I owe you nothing."

"I'm the reason you woke up, you owe everything to me," her voice came out in a snarl as she loomed over Angela who finally pulled back her duvet and brought her legs off the side of the bed. Moira scoffed at her unwillingness to cower, and Angela narrowed her eyes as she glared into familiar orbs of blue and red. 

Angela looked visibly confused by the statement, "I have no idea what you are going on about, but I am finished talking for the night. I have physiotherapy in the morning and I need rest-" 

Moira ignored her, her drunken instincts making her haphazardly place the nearly empty bottle of whiskey on a table before she closed in on Angela's space to grab at her wrists. The tired, weak blonde fought as best as she could, but she didn't have the strength to break out of Moira's grip.

Moira's features were lit up by the lamp ominously, light bouncing off of her sharp, distraught features as she tightened her hold on Angela's wrists and shoved her backward onto the bed. She climbs on top of her, straddling the blonde and pinning her down, "No! I've waited months for this! I want to feel you again, taste you-"

She presses her lips against Angela's collar, the blonde fighting and pushing and trying desperately to ward her off, "Moira! S-Stop! Get off of me!" she barked her plea, unable to do much other than complain.

One of the redhead's hands left Angela's wrists to grab at her jaw, holding her steadily in place as she roughly brought their lips together, forcing her mouth open so Moira's tongue could invade.

And all at once it seemed Angela stopped fighting, her tongue pushing back against Moira's, a whimper being hummed into her mouth. Moira's heart hammered and her breath shook, the scent and taste of whiskey strong between them. She took notice of how warm Angela was, how much thinner she had gotten. And in the barely distiguishsble lighting she could barely see them when she pulled back to take a breath, but her mismatched, half lidded eyes picked up on the trail of tears falling down her temples.

Angela looked pained, conflicted and about a thousand other emotions, and the air hung between them while both women caught their breath. She stared into red and blue for a dreadfully long time, Moira waiting for some kind of signal to keep going, some sort of sign from the other, but it never came. 

When Moira bit the bullet and leaned in to connect their lips again, her cheek was met with hot sting of dulled pain, Angela having mustered whatever strength she had left to strike her across the face with her palm.

The sound echoed as Moira's eyes fluttered open again, making contact once more with bright blue, Angela drawing a shaky breath in.

"Leave. Please just- just leave, Moira-"

The redhead's eyes welled and her features morphed into sadness and desperation, "No, Ange- come on, please- just-"

"No, I don't want this. I-" Angela's gaze held on Moira, the silence lingering, "We are finished. I'm engaged to Fareeha. And you need to leave."

"But I-"

"No! I don't- I don't want you, Moira!"

"Tell me you don't still love me, then-"

"What?"

"Tell me you don't love me and I'll leave. I'll never bother you again."

Moira always loved to challenge Angela, even when they were together, and Angela was never one to back down from a challenge.

The blonde furrowed her brows and clenched her jaw, the tears still streaming as she shakes her head and blinks, "I don't. I don't love you."

Moira stared at her for a good long second, then she did as she promised, climbing off of the woman and stumbling as she stood. She said nothing more while she backed away to the door, then turned and breezed out, leaving Angela and any hope she had of their future behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tldr; more pain


	10. 10

For the fourth night in a row Moira was cruising her usual club. She would never be able to handle these kinds of places without the aid of drugs coursing through her system, altering the thump of music and flashing lights into a different dimension where all she felt was pleasure and the pain of her failed relationship was nothing but an afterthought. Fuck Angela, she doesn't need her. There's a million other women that would gladly be fucked by the tall, handsome geneticist, many of them right in this room.

Moira stays at the bar, eyeing different women up through the crowd as she knocks back another whiskey and takes another bump of coke from the small container she kept in her pocket. The rush goes to her head, eyes lulling in her skull as she sorts back the aftertaste. When her eyes flutter open again they immediately land on a young blonde, hair pulled back into a ponytail, dancing away in the middle of the floor amongst the sea of inebriated party goers.

Moira smirks and leaves her place at the bar, stalking through the crowd with her eyes locked on the blonde. Letting her gaze drift away even for a second could cause the woman to vanish deeper into the club, or the washroom, or God forbid she leaves to go home without the redhead. She doesn't even blink as she approaches her, a sultry grin on her lips as she grinds up against the woman and pulls her into the sway by her hips. There's no use using her words, the music much too loud to hear anything else, and instead she uses her body language to guide the encounter. 

The nameless blonde reciprocates the hot and heavy grinding, pressing herself flush against Moira and hooking her arms around her neck to pull her down for lips to press against her exposed collar. Moira responded with tenacity, the grip of her slender hands tightening on rolling hips as they synced their movements, and the Irishwoman's lips searing welts into the area around her neck. The bass pounded through the room, through their bones, and the glow of flashing and alternating beams of coloured light illuminated them in blue, then purple, then red as Moira felt up her dancing partner, hands leaving her hips to grab at her backside and pull her closer as if it were even possible.

She felt the woman crane her neck, giving Moira more room to abuse the flesh there, which she took advantage of by sucking a possessive mark higher up towards her jaw. 

The tempo began to change, one song melding into the next, and Moira found heraelf tugging the woman towards the doors, eager to escort her home where they could become more acquainted. The blonde didn't seem to mind, flashing Moira a knowing smirk through the strobe lights and allowing her hand to be taken and lead.

The air outside of the club was much less thick with a much less alcoholic scent. It was crisp and refreshing against her sweat covered skin, and she savoured the deep breath as she pulled the woman along the streets looking for a cab.

After the breath of fresh air, she pulled out her pack out her pack of smokes to slide one between her lips and spark it with need. A long drag made her cheeks sink as she sucked back the poison, letting out a sigh of satisfaction as her craving began to be quenched.

Moira made idle chit chat with the woman while she hailed a cab down for them. She was told the blonde's name, but as quickly as it entered her brain, it left again. That's fine, she'd just avoid it. No need to address her by name anyways.

The redhead opened the door for her companion, then rounded to the other side and slipped in beside her with a smile. Her hands started to roam, not bothering to clip the seatbelt in her eager state, and she pressed their lips together in a messy kiss as the car drove through the downtown streets. She could hear the cab driver scoff and turn up the radio, the distinct sound of Queen surrounding her amongst the gasps and small moans her partner was emitting. Moira let one of her hands wander between the woman's legs, up her skirt, and brought her lips close enough to brush over the lobe of her ear, "Ya' wan' me ta' fuck ya' in-"

Moira's words were severed short, the crunch and smash of metal rattling her world and turning it upside down. Tires screeched against the pavement and glass shattered upon impact, and all throughout the screams made her ears ring. The car flipped and her body tumbled around like a ragdoll until she was launched through the windshield, shards of glass lodging themselves in her flesh and then being ground deeper when she hit the concrete, skidding across, bruised and bleeding profusely, until she finally rolls to a stop, either unconscious or dead to horrified onlookers.

-

Darkness. That's all that surrounded her. She couldn't move, she couldn't see, there was nothing to hear. It was as if she had ripped a hole in the universe and fell through. A space that didn't exist.

If this place didn't exist, did Moira even exist? 

Was she dying? 

Was this what everything has lead up to? An anti-climactic ending to her lackluster, sorry excuse for a life? She wanted to cry but didn't have a body to cry with. She wanted to scream, but didn't have vocal chords to make any sound. She felt in limbo, between worlds, stuck and unable to do do anything. Was this Hell? Was it Purgatory?

Would Angela miss her?

Questions flooded her disembodied form, memories resurfacing, old wounds ripping back open and fresh wounds having salt poured on them as she sees her entire, sad life in a flash. So many years of darkness and pain, followed by so many more. The only light her life held was when she was with Angela. Even amongst the fights, it was still more vibrant than any hookup, or piece of work could be, and without her Moira's life would be monochromatic and lackluster. 

She floated in the abyss of darkness, reflecting on her regrets as she stared death in the face, thinking how unfair it was that she was to be torn from the Earth so abruptly, but then believing she deserves such an end. She does hope Angela misses her, that she'll go to Moira's funeral and mourn her if there is one, but that she wouldn't bring Fareeha if she did. 

Ugh, Fareeha. Congratulations, Amari, now you'll have her all to yourself. I won't be a thorn in your side any longer. With my luck, Angela won't even notice I'm gone. Hell, maybe she'll even throw a party-

Suddenly, her manifested form felt a shock ripple through the darkness, a blinding flash of light appearing then vanishing in the same breath. Then it happened again. 

And again.

And agai- 

"Fuck-!" Moira gasped deeply, bloodshot eyes flying open and struggling to register what was happening around her, frantically looking around with panic as the sounds of sirens and EMT's trying to ask her questions overwhelm her. 

She pants hard, still gasping for air as tears rush down her temples into her hair, now a deep blood red where she was gushing from a wound. She reaches for something, anything to grab onto, as if whatever it was could anchor her to the physical world. Shaky, panic ridden fingers find an EMT's arm, and she holds on for her life as she sputters pleas and begs them, begs God, begs anyone or anything to save her. She whimpers through gritted teeth that she doesn't want to die before it all becomes too much. The pain, the shock, the trauma, her body shuts down and she slips unconscious again despite how hard she fights it. 

She slips back into that darkness, that void, except this time her thoughts melt away like she's being lulled to a much needed sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask, no Moira isn't dead
> 
> But bitch you thought the pain had peaked well haha motherfucker i hate myself and torture myself with angst so now you all have to suffer with me :)


	11. 11

Moira's eyes flutter open and her pupils shrink from the light coming in through the window. She doesn't wake slowly, jerking to consciousness like she tilted back in a chair too far. The familiar beeping of a heart monitor speeds up as she takes in her surroundings, mind racing to try and piece together what the fuck happened to her.

She was at the club, that she can recall, and she danced with a blonde, but after that everything goes blank, memory blurring into darkness. Her entire body hurt and she couldn't twist her head, and the lights were too damn bright. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and swallowed nothing down her throat, mouth dry and tongue like sandpaper. She couldn't fucking remember, and she hated it.

The battered redhead dozed in and out for the next hour or so, nurses coming to check on her every ten minutes. She was unable to speak more than a hoarse whisper, and breathing too deeply caused a sharp pain to stab her ribs, so her breaths were shallow. But she was alive. Despite whatever happened to her, and she'd ask when she had more strength, she was still alive. 

And she didn't know how to feel about it.

Her mind and body were too exhausted to form full proper thoughts as she lulled in and out, and at some point she passed out for a good while judging by how the sun was replaced with moonlight shining through her window when her eyes fluttered open again. The night was calming, and much less cruel to her eyes and head, the pounding subsiding either from the dark or whatever meds were in her IV. Red and blue scanned the room as best as they could given her restricted movement, but it was enough to catch the sight of moonlight bouncing off of someone beside her. 

Once her eyes adjust fully and she focuses in on the shadows of the figure she blinks to make sure she's seeing properly, the sight sending a surge through her and making the heart monitor sound off in a mote rapid pace. Was she dreaming? Was she actually dead? She was hesitant to believe that this was real and Angela had actually come to visit her, but once the woman spoke it became clear that this was happening.

Angela's voice was stern but compassionate after a sigh leaves her, "Moira O'Deorain..."

Moira winced in response, struggling to work out a proper reply, "Angela-"

"You don't think of anyone but yourself, do you?"

Ah, great. A scolding, just what she needs right after waking up from whatever the fuck happened to her. She closed her eyes and averted her gaze from Angela, unable to escape or run away from the lecture the woman was sure to inflict upon her.

Angela reached out with purpose to brush the shaggy red strands out of her eyes, letting the action continue far after the hair was relocated, "Here I am beside you, while I'm on the clock, because you had the nerve to go and nearly get yourself killed. I should be working right now," Angela's hand fell to Moira's cheek, her thumb gently brushing over her bruised cheekbone, so faintly Moira wondered if she was touching her at all.

"Go, then," Moira choked out, her usually full, husky voice now a weak, strangled sound. She still refused to look at her, but her brows her knit together and her jaw was clenched as tightly as she could manage.

"No. I will be staying here, with the medbay's most critical patient. Our staff is very capable of handling things should I be absent for any reason. Do you really believe I run everything by myself? I'm not a miracle worker, Moira." 

Angela's hand left her cheek to find her hand, lacing their fingers together and lingering in the sweet silence before letting out a sad sounding sigh, "...you really should take better care of yourself, you know. All these drugs and alcohol are deteriorating your body. I think it may already be making you look a bit aged," she leaned in closer to look at Moira's beginning crows feet, a playful grin across her lips.

"I'm perfect."

"Ah, I see your arrogance didn't suffer any injuries in the accident," Angela was quick to reply, banter firing off naturally between the two women. 

Moira rolled her eyes as she fought a weak grin, "None at all".

"Mm, and your sarcasm is very impressive as well," the blonde added.

"Is it?"

"Oh yes, but I still think there is something happening with your brain."

"Hm?" Her brows twisted in confusion, eyes narrowing slightly. Was she being serious? Did she have brain damage from what happened to her? She squeezed Angela's hand a tad tighter.

Angela sighed, hesitating as her face fell into a more serious expression and she rubbed circles with her thumb into Moira's hand, "You need to go through addiction rehabilitation, Moira. I am not going to watch you deteriorate until you are nothing but skin and bones."

Now her eyeroll was fuelled by irritation. She wasn't a drug addict. An alcoholic, maybe, but she'd rather die than quit drinking. She shakes her head slowly, "I'm fine-"

"No, you are not. I am going to oversee your treatment. I'd like us to remain friends, Moira, and that will not happen unless you accept the choice I am giving you." 

Friends. Why would Moira want to stay friends with her? So she could be reminded every day that she lost her to Fareeha? So the wound would never close? Her silence drones on as she contemplates, but she can't settle on anything.

Minutes pass and Angela takes Moira's lack of response as an answer, standing from her seat and smoothing out her pencil skirt awkwardly as she clears her throat, "You can take some time to decide, you will be here for a few weeks anyways. I really do think you should consider it."

Angela offers her a weak smile, then folds her hands in front of her waist and begins to walk to the door. She turns to face Moira once more, "You should get some rest. Goodnight, Moira."

The redhead just blinks at her, then turns her face away, allowing Angela to take her leave. She hears the door shut and immediately her eyes well with what hydration she had, dripping down her cheeks sparingly. 

She had almost died and Angela still didn't want her. She wanted Fareeha. What did that cunt have that Moira doesn't? Why couldn't Moira just fucking let go and move on and stop torturing herself? Why was she so goddamn pathetically hung up on her? 

Friendship was out of the question. Moira wouldn't expose herself to that kind of agony. She couldn't. But perhaps she could try to win her back if she were able to get close enough? Play along with her friendship schtick and weasle her way between the brides to be. But that would again involve rehab, and going back to her original thought, she was not a drug addict. She could stop any time she wants to, she just doesn't want to. 

Fucking hell, why did she have to bestow this ultimatum upon her? It was a momentous decision to make, one that she couldn't just accept all willy nilly. Going through rehab would disrupt her entire life for at least a month, was she willing to put all of that on hold to attempt to steal Angela away?

She'a going to at least try. If there's even the slightest possibility that she could have her angel back in her arms, she had to try. 

But now she had to rest and allow her body to recover from the trauma it went through. Angela said she would be here for a few weeks, so she had some time to prepare for the committment. Moira tries to wind herself down enough to drift back to sleep, which in her current state didn't prove to be too difficult. Lids lulled over red and blue as she felt herself fade, the beeping of the heart monitor soothing the otherwise dead silence of the room, and she floated into a slumber. 

-

Her days in the medbay come and go, and thanks to modern medicine she didn't feel quite as awful as she looked. She learned of the car crash that landed her here, all the gruesome details, how she was thrown twenty feet from the car. She was also informed of the laundry list of injuries she had suffered; abbrasions, a brain contusion, a fractured humerus, four broken ribs, a punctured lung, whiplash, an orbital fracture and a myocardial contusion. They brought her back with a defibrilator. She was almost pronounced dead. 

The information was a blow to absorb. The first night after she found out was the worst, the realization that her heart actually stopped hitting her as hard as she hit the pavement. Bits of that night started to come back, but only in fragments, and she was unable to piece them back together to see the whole picture. Her memory was lacking since, not just regarding the accident, and her speech was slurred and struggling. She was growing frustrated quickly, not being able to express herself in her usual ways, returning one or two word answers instead of the dreadfully long sentences she would use before. Her frustration swelled rapidly, paired with fatigue and boredom to slaughter her mood until she felt nothing but anger and bitterness. Would she ever be the same as before the accident? Surely if she was unable to fully recover there would be something they could do. She worried that the journey to full recovery was longer than she originally thought, and she was scared.

Unlike Angela, who had the whole base's support, sending her flowers and get well cards and balloons, visitor after visitor during the days, Moira was alone. She didn't have anyone to lean on, nobody there holding her hand through it, no one to tell her it was going to be okay, and so her thoughts plummeted into a downward spiral that would shock even the darkest of pessimists. 

Alone was safe, reliable, uneventful. Having companions only ends in disappointment, agony and turbulance. Her life has been entirely upheaved by the presence of Angela Ziegler, the course of her future skewed forever by the woman's mark. Moira wonders how different things would be if she had never involved herself with her. Less eventful, that was for certain. Less fulfilling? Perhaps. But it would have been safer, less painful, than all of this. 

She flips and flops through her thoughts over the next few days, going back and forth over her feelings and emotions, her wants and desires, her fears, what she was willing to sacrifice and if she was willing to split the wound wide open once more and allow herself to be vulnerable again. God, she was scared. Anxious. Dissociated. Did Angela feel like this when she was recovering? Moira hated it. She wanted to be knocked out or blackout drunk but she was stuck here in this damn bed. 

She tossed throughout that night, and when she woke she felt worse than before, eyes sore and tired and everything hurt. The nurses made their rounds and assisted her with breakfast, which was a piss poor bland oatmeal that she struggled to choke down, then it was back to thinking and waiting for her body to heal. There was nothing to occupy her time, and she must have counted the dots within the ceiling tiles about a thousand times already. It would help if she could coordinate her hands properly to use her phone, but even her fingers didn't want to cooperate with her.

Moira believed she was on her way to losing her mind from stasis, but to her surprise she was about to have a guest, the door hissing open for Angela to step through.

She was in her doctor's coat and a simple black sweater paired with comfortable black pants and a pair of flats in the same neutral shade. Effortlessly beautiful, as always, and much more mobile every time she saw her. 

Moira was far from expecting a visit from the woman, talking herself into believing Angela didn't want anything to do with her. Maybe that was a defense mechanism, to convince herself that she is unimportant. 

"How are you feeling?" Angela's voice rings clear and sweet, soft, as she approaches the bedside, hands folded in front of her waist. She wore an apologetic expression, her blue eyes scanning over different parts of Moira to assess the progress. 

Moira cleared her hoarse throat and furrowed her brows, "Mm. N-Not good," she stutters, turning her palm upwards and outstretching her shaky fingers in an attempt to garner Angela's touch.

It was successful, the blonde placing her hand comfortingly in Moira's palm, her delicate fingers wrapping around slowly and carefully. Angela lets out a small sigh, "You are going to be just fine. And when you are better, I'll let you cook me dinner as an apology," a genuine smile breaks over her lips, closed mouthed, but still just as bright as Moira remembers, but she rolls her eyes anyways. She loved Angela's need to bicker with her, challenge her, and push her buttons, but she wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of winning. 

"Dinner," she said and gave a short nod in confirmation. Angela offered to have dinner with her when she's better. That was a good sign, right? Regardless it caused the heart monitor to quicken, which did not go unnoticed by the doctor.

"As friends, of course." Moira saw the nervousness behind her eyes as she reiterated, clarifying. Did she really see it as just a friendly dinner between comrads? The redhead found that hard to believe.

"Of course," Moira responded quietly.

After a moment of comfortable silence between the two, Angela piped up again, clearly after some deliberation on whether or not to bring it up, "Have you given any thought about the offer I extended?" Her doe eyed gaze flutters from Moira's chapped lips to her mismatched, dulled eyes, hopeful and hanging on to Moira's every movement. 

The geneticist felt incredibly seen, and she tries to turn her head to avoid Angela's stare, but can't twist her neck far enough. A sigh expels through her nose and she tightens her lips while she thinks.

"Would I h-have to quit drinking?"

"That would be best, yes."

Moira sighs, "I can't." Quitting drinking was too far. She didn't want to have to swear it off for the rest of her life. She wanted to be able to have a drink or two every night at least, to help her unwind. But with having trouble getting words out she couldn't exactly tell Angela all these thoughts.

"Alright. That is fine."

Moira knew when Angela said it was fine, it was most definitely not. She could hear the disappointment in her voice, see it in her features and body language, all of it so familiar from the countless times Moira has disappointed her in the past.

Angela stood then, pulling her hand from Moira only for the redhead to snatch at her wrist, "No, please- don' go-"

"I have to. I wasn't even supposed to take a break, I have to go back to work. Just- think about it some more, yes?" Angela tugs her arm from Moira's slack grip easily, heading toward the door.

"I'll do it- please- I'll do it. Don' leave."

Angela returns the few steps she had taken, wide eyed and in disbelief, "I have to leave, I'm sorry. But if you are serious about this, we can discuss it more tomorrow, alright?"

Moira blinked her tears back and nodded, putting up no more fuss. She didn't have the strength to fight her right now, as badly as she wants her to stay beside her. 

Angela offered an apologetic smile, "I'll come by after work tomorrow evening and we can go over everything. Try to get some rest until then, I would like you to be awake when we discuss this." 

Another eyeroll from the geneticist, "Yes, doctor," she smirked, trying so hard to wink but only blinking instead. Angela half scoffed, half laughed, stifling the sound in her throat before heading out the door, leaving Moira in solitude with her thoughts once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are getting good :)
> 
> Also i love hearing your guys' thoughts so pls comment so we can scream together


	12. 12

Angela was usually supposed to be done work at six o'clock in the evening, but Moira had never seen her leave early not once in her life. She knew the blonde always stayed late, whether she was working with patients or paperwork, and that she has a specific throw blanket in her office where she slept more often than not. The doctor's actual bed was scarcely used, when she wasn't sleeping on the sofa in her office she was face down at her desk. Moira had frequented this routine as well before her accident, and they crossed paths more than once in the late hours of the night, which usually ended with them entangled in each other, sharing pleasure and chasing climax after climax in Angela's very under used bed. 

By eight o'clock, Moira was beginning to worry. Had she gotten engrossed in something work related? Had she completely forgotten about the redhead? Did Fareeha surprise her with a date? Was Fareeha fucking her? she sped down the rabbit hole quickly, gaining a lump in her throat as she thought of all the things Fareeha and Angela do together. The things Moira and Angela used to do together. She pictures them rolling around the sheets together, Angela's moans spurred on by the brunette's actions, sweaty and naked and close. Moira misses it. She misses her. 

Almost right on queue, her door sweeps open and the blonde that had been on her mind stepped through, todays choice of footwear clacking against the floor as she approached Moira with a professional smile. 

Oh no, this wasn't going to be Angela helping her. Moira knew the Doctor Ziegler act when she saw it, after years of working with her she could tell when she was genuine and when she was putting on a face. This was definitely her putting on a face. 

Moira didn't particularily enjoy doctor's visits when it really came down to it. Obviously she enjoyed attractive, blonde, Swiss doctors tending to her, and she definitely liked to roleplay it in the bedroom, but the poking and prodding, the personal questions, the constant reminder that she's aging are all very uncomfortable for her. She avoided medical examinations as best as she could, she hasn't had one since her and Angela broke up, but with her upcoming rehabilitation she's sure an exam is on the horizon. 

And Angela will be the one to perform it.

"I apologize for being late, I was in surgery longer than anticipated," she stated, seeming somewhat detached or distracted, but she kept the small, polite smile as she sits on the chair next to Moira's bed, smoothing her skirt and crossing her legs, "Now, shall we get started?"

Straight and to the point. There were no pleasantries this time, no small talk, like a wall had been built overnight between them. Had Fareeha said something? Did she do something to upset Angela? Was it just a long day? Was it a bad work day? Not knowing what was bothering the blonde was killing her, but she knew if she asked Angela would brush it off as always. She didn't particularily have the strength or verbal ability to go down that road right now either, so she leaves it be and plays along with the doctor/patient act.

"P-Please do," Moira urges her on, already feeling the discomfort of the situation setting in. 

The doctor sighs gently and looks down to her clipboard, pulling a pen from the pocket of her white coat and tapping it on the page, "Alright. Before we discuss treatment optuons, I need to ask you a few questions about your use of substances and alcohol. Is that Alright?"

Moira squirmed a bit. She didn't really want Angela to know exactly how much and how often she had been using. The only reason she hasn't had any withdrawal symptoms is because she's on heavy painkillers. She nodded in response. 

Angela nodded back, "Alright. Firstly, which substances have you been using?"

The redhead hesitated, eyeing the other before averting her gaze, "C-Cocaine, ecstacy, mdma, k-ketamine, p-p-percocet, c-c-can- fuck- cannabis, alcohol". It took her quite some time to get all the words out, her anxiety worstening her speech. She looked embarrassed, ashamed, both with the list of substances and her inability to speak properly. She was set up to have a speech therapist see her in a few days, but in the meantime she felt helpless and frustrated.

Angela sensed that frustration, and after she copied down the information Moira had provided, she decided to take greater control over the conversation, "How often are you using these substances? Let's start with the cocaine."

"Daily."

"Alright," the pen scratched her response down, Moira's eyes following until Angela looked up at her again, "And the ecstacy?"

"Mm. Weekly. K-Ketamine and mdma, t-too."

Moira noticed Angela wince as she listened, despite doing her best to stay perfectly professional and unemotional. The pen scratched again, "And I'm well aware of your daily cannabis and alcohol use. As for the percocet, are they prescribed by a physician?"

Moira shook her head, feeling the judgement radiating from the other woman. Who in their right mind would prescribe her a strong painkiller repeatedly? No, she had her connections on the black market. 

"Alright," the blonde sighed, "Based upon what you have told me, I would suggest a supervised detox period followed by intensive therapy to get to the root of your addiction issues. We would keep you here in the medbay while you undergo detox, then you would have twice weekly, in depth sessions with a therapist, and weekly check ups with myself. Are there any questions so far?" 

"When- do I s-start?"

Angela took a moment to look her over quickly, "Once you're able to move around again. Detox will be stressful on your body, which is already under stress. From here on out your recovery should speed up. The worst is behind you, and the nanites are doing their job, and I see here you have a physical therapist coming to work with you in the next day or so. I'm optimistic you will be ready for treatment in about a week."

A week. She had a week. Christ, she wishes she was able to have a drink or a line before then but that possibility was less than scarce. Maybe she was an addict. Maybe she really did need help. She sighed, closing her eyes tightly.

"Alright."

"Very well. I will let you get back to resting, yes?" Angela stood with her clipboard, offering that same professional smile as before. She seemed like she was itching to get out of there, and this time Moira wouldn't protest.

"Goodn-night then."

"Goodnight, Moira."

-

Just as Angela said, each day she improved. The physiotherapist was helping and the speech therapist was making progress with her as well. Moira still wasn't walking, but she could scroll through her phone and sit up, wiggle her toes, stretch her legs. She was supposed to meet with the physiotherapist again today, and Angela had sent her a message saying she wanted to sit in on a session and see for herself how she was fairing. The redhead felt almost nervous that she would be there watching, observing, as she basically relearned how to walk. She didn't want to embarrass herself in front of her, not that Angela would pay any mind to it in the moment, she has to stay professional of course. Still, something nagged in the back of her mind about it. 

Moira waited, nodding in and out of sleep after another unsatisfying breakfast. She was growing tired of the food they served and only really picked at it, unable to take down the gruel they claim is edible. It was enough to keep her semi-conscious until her door opened, snatching her from dozing off for the tenth time in an hour.

Angela had arrived before the physiotherapist, looking like she was feeling better than she was last time they'd met. Was she early? Was the other person late? Maybe Moira could convince her to change her mind about sitting in on this session.

"You don't have to be here," she put it simply, avoiding eye contact until she bit the bullet and looked at her briefly. 

Angela waved her hand, dismissing Moira, "Nonsense. You are currently a patient, and it is my duty to care for my patients."

"I'm not your patient," she replied. She's been dealing with one of the other doctors, and Angela had more than enough people to take care of already.

Angela flipped through Moira's file, "Actually, you are. Your case has been handed off to me as of this morning," she shot a glance over the top of the file, offering her warm smile, "Now, you've been feeling better I take it? Your speech has improved already, that is good news-"

"Angela-"

"And you've been able to use your phone, that is a nice improvement, yes?"

"Angela-"

"Your range of mobility has increased, and-"

"Ange-"

The blonde's voice halted, and she held the edges of Moira's file tighter, refusing to look up from the page.

"Why are you my doctor?" Her question was as clear as she could make it with her deteriorated speech, still stumbling through long sentences, but she hopes Angela will answer genuinely and understand exactly what she was asking. 

Angela hesitated, drew a breath in, then lowered the file, wearing her sweet smile again, "Your doctor left for vacation."

"He didn't tell me-"

"I do not know why he wouldn't tell you, but that's the extent of my knowledge on the matter-"

The door slid open to cut their coversation short, both of their heads craning a bit to look at the woman that entered. The physiotherapist? It must be.

The woman cleared her voice and smiled softly, "Ah, hello. I hope I'm not intruding on anything-"

Both Moira and Angela let out a no simultaneously, glancing at each other before returning their attention to the woman.

Angela took the lead, putting her doctor facade on, "Hello, I am Doctor Ziegler, and this is Miss O'Deorain. You are the physiotherapist I take it?"

"Yes, it's nice to finally meet you, doctor, I've heard plenty about you. And you as well Miss O'Deorain-" Moira didn't give a response, just a small nod, and the woman took a breath before formally introducing herself.

"My name is Mya Morgan and I'll be working with Miss O'Deorain over the next few weeks. Do either of you have any questions before we get started?"

Moira shook her head. She just wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. Angela looked to Moira then back at the other woman, speaking Moira's answer for the both of them, "No questions. Please, begin."

With Angela's approval, they begin the session. Small things at first, like gripping a pencil, writing, and squeezing a tennis ball. Then it grew into arm movements, then leg movements. They took their time and carefully carried out the actions, and then it was time for Moira to stand up. 

Nerves wracked her, but she took a deep breath and looked to Angela for some sort of reassurance but the blonde held an even expression. Moira swallowed thickly and placed her feet on the cold hospital floor, the physiotherapist reaching out to keep her steady and make sure she didn't fall. 

Moira's legs were weak, knees shaking and unsteady, but she was standing. It felt like it had been forever since she felt the floor beneath her feet, the last time she was standing she was getting into a cab. How long had it even been now? The days were blurring together.

But she was standing. And after a moment, she sat back down, the physiotherapist encouraging her with supportive words as Angela looked on.

The rest of the session wrapped up quickly, as Morgan didn't want to push her body too hard and suggested she get some rest. After a brief goodbye, she left the two women to themselves, and Moira waited for Angela to speak first, but it never happened.

She sighed and laid back in the bed, "I'm tired," she voiced. If Angela wasn't going to speak, then she could leave. The tension was more exhausting than the physio.

"I'll leave you to rest. I have other patients to see anyhow," the blonde stated, standing with Moira's file in hand. 

"Mhm. I bet."

Angela shot her a glare, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Go."

Angela tensed, Moira clenched her jaw, and the silence hung in the air between them. The redhead turned her gaze away from the other, but Angela's stare was locked on her.

An irritated sigh left the doctor, "Have a good rest of your day, Miss O'Deorain," she bit back before turning and practically stomping out the door.

After a few seconds, once Angela was surely halfway down the hall, Moira let out a groan. She didn't want just a doctor and patient relationship with Angela. She didn't want her to take care of hern not like this at least. It made the geneticist feel small and it caused their dynamic to feel fake. Moira wasn't interested on spending time with Doctor Angela Ziegler, head of Overwatch medical, she just wanted Angela. 

Was this all a mistake? Angela was going to be taking care of Moira's rehabilitation, overseeing her general health, keeping that sickly fake smile she gives to every other patient.

Was Moira just another patient to her? Just another person to save? God, was that why she dated her to begin with? Is that why she's here now? Moira's mind flooded with too many questions, too many thoughts, and with no way to silence them she just groaned and whined like she was in physical pain.

Well, she was in physical pain, but that's not why she's groaning. 

She's groaning because it's only 1 in the afternoon and she already wants the day to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didnt realize how long this slowburn was gonna be sgfhgjkg  
> I promise itll get good  
> I promise  
> You just have to be patient  
> The buildup has to be fleshed out and make sense and flow and just i swear  
> It will be good  
> Thank yall for reading im v glad people like it and i thrive off of praise and recognition so thank u


	13. 13

The days following her first meeting with the physiotherapist went very similar, with the exception of any vocal communication between Moira and Angela. The blonde would still sit in on the sessions, but she wouldn't say a word to the redhead, and Moira would carry out her tasks but wouldn't even acknowledge Angela's presence. They were stuck in a stalemate of tension and stubbornness, neither of them wishing to break the cold bout of silence between them.

They've played this game before; fights, 'breakups', a week or two of silence, then they would have another fight and have sex and everhthing would go back to normal. But this wasn't like before. They weren't together, and they weren't going to kiss and make up so to speak. So how would this end? Would it end? The thought of this being the new normal rotted Moira to her core, and if things were going to be this way, maybe she didn't even want treatment. 

The days blended into weeks, and Moira was finally on her last physio appointment. That also meant she had to make a decision on whether or not she wanted to do the rehabilitation. She had weighed her options relentlessly, gone over every scenario, every outcome, and ultimately came to the choice of rejecting her offer. Now she had to fucking tell her.

If she's lucky, Angela will just let her go, not make a scene or a big deal out of it. Moira's luck was never very good, but maybe this time it'd be different. The sooner she can get out of here and distance herself from the blonde the better. She was a fool to think any of this was a good idea, that she could worm her way back into her life, that she'd leave Fareeha and they'd have the happy ending she so desperately wanted. But it was nothing but a pipe dream. 

It'll be easier to sever ties now rather than later.

The finsl session came and went. Moira was able to walk on her own, still just a bit unbalanced but not enough for her to be at risk of falling, and her hand movements were nearly back to normal. She was to refrain from certain overexertions and repetetive movements; writing, typing, walking for too long. But all in all, she was given the green light by the physiotherapist to be discharged and resume life. 

After a final goodbye, the physiotherapist departed, and Angela and Moira were left in their tension. The doctor scratched down a few notes into moira's file as the redhead bit at her own lip, nervously eyeing her. It was now or never, now or rehabilitation. Overseen by Angela.

She drew in a sharp breath, "You know, Angela, I think I'm going to pass on the rehab," she blurted out, "I'm no longer interested and I'd just like to retreat to my dorm and-"

"What?"

Angela stared hard at her with narrowed eyes, and for the first time in weeks they're looking at each other. Moira stays firm, voice even and matter of fact, "I am declining your offer."

Moira saw Angela's upset bubbling underneath her professional demeanor. The wheels turned behind furious blue eyes, and she took a deep breath before responding, "Moira, I strongly suggest you reconsider-"

Moira stood from the bed with some effort, thankful for her height as she stared down at the other, "There's nothing to reconsider. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go to my dorm and I need to get dressed-"

Angela blocked her path, stepping directly in front of her as Moira attempted to walk and causing them to collide gently, "We already agreed on-"

"Well I changed my mind. I don't want to do it and I don't want you as my doctor."

"Moira-"

"Get out of my way, Angela-" Moira pushed an arm out to move the woman from her path but was met with resistance and pleading, blue eyes disguised with anger. 

Angela stayed planted firmly where she stood, her hands on Moira's forearm as she pushed back, "No. You told me you would go through with rehabilitation. I already have everything all in order-" 

The redhead tried again to move her, this time with more force, "Then cancel everything, because I am not going-"

Angela then snatched at Moira's wrist and arm, voice raising and beginning to quiver, eyes welling with either anger or sadness or both, "You're going to wind up dead if you keep going down this path, Moira!"

Red and blue diverted to the floor, not wanting to meet the other's disappointment as she tried to tug out of her grasp, "I don't need to be saved by you or anyone else! I am perfectly fine, and if death is what awaits me then so be it. Not like I have much to live for anymore."

Angela's face fell, her grip falling slack on the thin redhead, then her eyes narrowed once again, and her hold on the woman tightened furiously, "Don't. I am not going to watch you kill yourself with drugs and alcohol-"

Moira retaliated, her free, slender hand coming to grab at Angela's wrist, prying one of her hands off with some work as her own glare met with the other's, "Then might I suggest you go live your happy soon-to-be married life with Fareeha and fucking forget about me like you should have done earlier."

"Do you think I haven't tried to forget about you?"

Now Moira's face fell and her grip fell slack, settling into a bewildered expression as she stood nearly flush against Angela, unable to peel her somber stare from welling ocean blue. 

"Do you think you are the only one here that has had trouble getting over the other? That I haven't cried and screamed and wished things were different? Get off your high horse, Moira, because you are not the only one who feels hurt-"

The tears finally fell from Angela's eyes, and she pushed against Moira to shove her away, to pull from her grip, but the redhead held her firmly and yanked her back, crushing their lips together to stop her from saying anything more.

Angela fought for only a brief moment before surrendering, and all at once their bodies shifted, their hands moved, and Moira's arms were around her and their tongues were being reacquainted with one another, Angela's hands running up Moira's back until they reached the fiery red, fingers lacing throughout the stands. 

It made the hairs on Moira's neck stand on end, a shiver followed by a wave of heat rushing through her body as she tasted Angela's tears on her lips, then the absence of it when the blonde pulled back to catch her breath and lock her gaze with Moira's.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, but it was only mere seconds, time slowing to a standstill while she was in Angela's arms. But then time returned and Angela stepped back, the realization of what they had done setting in. Her hand lifted to her lips where her fingers dusted over, and her brows creased with what Moira saw as worry when she looked at the redhead one last time, letting it linger before turning and leaving her room, door hissing shut with a click behind her.

Moira was left breathless and panting as she processed everything that happened, eyes darting around for something to focus on but finding nothing in particular. She dropped back onto the bed, echoing Angela's motion of touching her own lips.

Angela had returned the kiss. Angela wasn't over her. Maybe she did have a chance. Maybe Fareeha was nothing more than a u-haul rebound. 

For the first time in weeks Moira found herself smiling. 

She stood from the bed and grabbed her clothing, changing as she wore a dumb grin on her face. Angela still wanted her, and she wasn't done pursuing her. 

Rehabilitation was going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapter but i wanted to end on a high note~


	14. 14

Moira decided to wait a couple days before contacting Angela to tell her she had changed her mind again. Being fresh out of the medbay, she wanted to have a celebratory drink and a small line of coke and fuck herself while she thought about their kiss, Angela's hands in her hair, the familiar taste of her tears, her body pressed against hers. Moira hadn't masturbated proper since she was admitted, and she was severely pent up after Angela left her room.

So after Moira dressed she headed down to her dorm and immediately lit a cigarette, savouring the rush of nicotine that jolted her system leaving her slightly light headed, then she pulled a bottle from her kitchenette and pulled the cork out to take back a large swig of whiskey. She settled onto the small couch, putting her feet up on the coffee table and kicking back with her favourite vices.

The smell of smoke filled the room, the ventilation system doing its best to replace it with clean air, but falling behind from the pace Moira was sucking it back. She spends a good fifteen minutes just smoking and drinking as she listened to one of her most favoured albums, humming along to the tune of Life On Mars, thankful that she was finally free from the constraints of the medbay where everything was so painfully white and sterile it gave her a headache. The low lighting of lamps in her room was much kinder to her aging eyes than the bright fluorescents.

After two cigarettes she sits upright again, pulling a small container out of a drawer in the coffee table, popping the cap and dumping a line of the white powder onto the back of her hand then snorting it back quickly. A mix of a moan and a groan leave her as she wriggles her nose and seals the container, tossing it onto the table so she can lean back again and bask in the rush that overtook her entire body. 

Oh, fuck she had missed this feeling. The painkillers they gave her when she was in the medbay were nice and all but cocaine sent her to heaven. Mixed with the warm buzz of booze and the relaxation of the nicotine, she was on cloud nine by the time her hand wandered under her belt and between her legs. 

The black cotton of her boxer briefs was damp already when she pressed her lithe fingers against her clit through the fabric, rubbing impatient circles which drew out small huffs and moans. Her mind drifted back to Angela, back to when she used to fuck her brains out in the middle of the day at work, or in the morning on a Sunday in Angela's rarely used bed, or after a fight. She thinks of Angela's hands on her thighs, gripping firmly to hold her still while her tongue and mouth went to work, Moira's fingers laced throughout her blonde hair. She thinks of the reverse scenario where Moira's between her legs. She thinks of every time she's ever touched Angela, everytime she was touched by her, every moan and whimper and beg for release, every cry of pleasure and pain, and in turn every sound Angela was able to steal from her as well.

A louder moan broke the air and Moira spent no more time on self-foreplay, her once graceful hands now shaky and eager as they unlatch the belt and pop her pants button open. The fabric is shoved down to her ankles and she stands from the couch, stepping out of the crumpled pants and underwear that now sat on the floor. She pulled her shirt over her head and added it to the pile, then made way for a decorative chest she had at the foot of her bed, opening the buckles and pulling out two toys for herself; a magic wand and a dildo. 

Moira tossed the toys onto the bed and grabbed one of the many pillows, climbing onto the mattress and placing the pillow between her legs as if she were riding it. She was more than wet enough, so she skips on any artificial lubrication for the time being and raises herself up enough to place the toy under her. She lowers herself slowly, sinking down onto the toy with a shuddered breath as her eyes fall closed. Her slender hips rock slowly as she adjusts, her breaths becoming harsher when she gets into a rhythm, then she reaches for the wand, placing it against her clit before flicking the switch on with her thumb.

The vibrations send a jolt through her and she feels her muscles tighten, the walls of her cunt clenching the cock from the added sensation and her mouth hangs open as she pants softly. 

Moira wished so badly that it wasn't her in control of the toys, wished for Angela's body under her, moving as one as she rolled to a climax, she yearned for her taunting, her degredation which Moira would retaliate to. but she would have to settle for now.

Hopefully her fantasies weren't too far off.

The redhead quickened her pace, hitting that perfect spot as she angled herself back a bit, one hand resting behind her amd the other gripping the wand tightly. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, her breathing a rapid, shallow mess and her brows pinched together while pressure swelled in her abdomen. 

Moira chased her climax down, bucking her hips harshly and hearing the slick sounds of her cunt with each thrust. The pleasure shoots to its peak and she cries out, her eyes unable to stop rolling into the back of her head, her whole body jerking and clenching as she rode it out for what felt like an eternity. When she feels it settle, instead of flopping onto the bed in her post orgasm haze, she continues rolling her hips and turns up the wand to pull another overhelming surge of pleasure from her body. 

Moans became whines and whimpers of exhaustion and overstimulation, her clit pulsing and throbbing under the abuse from the wand and her cunt aching from the relentless fucking she was giving herself. Moira leaned over, slamming herself down onto the toy urgently and greedily, and before long she felt another build up of pressure under her navel, flooding her and rushing through her tensed muscles.

A strangled, breathless groan tears from her followed by a string of curses when her second climax overtakes her, body convulsing and quaking as she thought of Angela bringing her to this point, her name slipping out between her panting and repetetive swearing.

Her hips slow to a stop and she rolls off of the pillow and toy, flicking the wand switch on the wand and tossing it aside as she lay in a daze of aftershocks and buzzing warmth. She felt heavy and light and sweaty and content as she laid catching her breath. It took a lot out of her, this was by far the most physical exertion she's had since the accident and she's sure in the morning her body will ache from the tensing and clenching of muscles. But for now she'll bask in the afterglow in the low light of her bedside lamp, pulling the blanket up and over herself and pass out into a dreamless sleep for the first time in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter bc im about to pass tf out
> 
> But hey its all moira smut so i doubt anyones complainin lmao


	15. 15

[M: I've decided to try and give rehabilitation another chance.]

[A: Understood.]

[M: when can we begin?]

[A: Tomorrow.]

[M: any specific time?]

[A: 10am.]

[M: I'll see you then.]

[Read]

-

Angela made it quite clear with her short, to the point answers that she was only being professional. Had there not been a medical need for communication she's sure the woman wouldn't have responded to any messages she sent otherwise. The doctor had always been good at freezing Moira out, dodging her calls and texts and visits like the plague. Rehabiliation was the only way to get her attention now. 

She knew Angela couldn't turn away a person seeking help.

This guaranteed interaction with her, and the more interaction she has, the more likely she'll stop being so damn aloof and standoffish, the more chance Moira can rekindle something between them. 

She had a few days to binge and indulge before she reached out to Angela. Days to sate her hungers and quench her thirst, lean on her vices and replay the moment their lips met over and over. They left as quickly as they came, and the morning of rehab day one greeted her with an odd feeling. 

Was she nervous? Undoubtedly. Moira hasn't been sober since they were together, and before that it had been years. She knew how awful detox would be, having gone through it before, but she was more worried about the therapy sessions. Therapy meant acknowledging traumas and faults and flaws and reflecting on her actions. She spent every waking moment trying to do the exact opposite of what therapy would give her. There was a reason she didn't have any friends. 

She's guarded, secretive and private. Opening up to a therapist would be a new experience for her, and she was honestly fucking scared. Not to mention everything they'd write in her medical file, where Angela would read it.

Moira was going to have to be very careful with how she talked to the therapist and what she told them. If it wasn't something she could tell Angela, it wasn't something she could tell the therapist. She just had to make sure they didn't goad her into it, pull a hasty emotional response from her and have her speaking before thinking. 

As she racked her thoughts, the redhead took a quick shower and performed her skin care routine, then styled her hair back with pommade and hairspray, spending extra time on it to get it just right. After her hair was quaft, Moira applied her usual sharp eyeliner with a subtle smoky eye, and once she was satisfied she retreated to pick an outfit. 

She would probably have to change out of her clothes soon after she arrived at the medbay, but she wasn't about to walk in looking like the post-binge drug addict she is. Moira was trying to lure Angela back, after all. She had to look good, even if it was only for a minute before her forced costume change. As long as Angela can see her looking her best.

Moira chose a burgundy button up and pressed black dress pants tailored to her long, lanky build, pairing it with a black tie which was pulled securely around her neck and tied in that intricate knot. She looked herself up and down in the full length mirror, checking herself out and adjusting a stray strand of red poking out of place. 

She smiled at herself, more of a smirk, and let out a small laugh, "You really are quite the handsome devil, aren't you?" She mumbled, taking one final look before grabbing her phone, wallet and keycard, heading out her door to walk up to the medbay.

The redhead detested that she had to be admitted again after just gaining her freedom only days earlier, but she had to make sacrifices in the name of love. So her legs carried her to the front desk, and she tried to be subtle about it, lowering her voice and leaning in to tell the worker she was here for rehabilitation under Doctor Ziegler. The woman nodded and guided her to a room and handed her a robe to change into, stating politely that Doctor Ziegler would be in shortly. Angela was very punctual, and Moira knew she'd wait no longer than five minutes for her.

Just as predicted, within three minutes, Angela enters through the sliding door, eyeing her clipboard as her heels clack with each step.

She was as cold and detatched while still retaining a professional demeanor as she's ever been, seeming to stare through Moira rather than look at her while she spoke, "You were supposed to change before I arrived," she put it plainly.

"I've been in here for two minutes, Angela-"

"Doctor Ziegler."

Moira's eyes narrowed and her jaw tightened, hesitating before giving a response, "Well, Doctor Ziegler, I didn't have enough time to change before you bursted in. No matter, you're a medical professional, you've seen enough bodies-"

Moira began to undress in front of her, pulling her tie out of the knot and setting it on the chair. Lithe fingers began to pop open buttons, but Angela approached jer quickly and snatched her wrist, halting the motion.

"We are not doing this," she snapped at her, eyes narrowing and then widening all in one movement as she realized her hand was still around Moira's wrist. She dropped it immediately, pulling herself back and standing about two metres away from the redhead.

Moira didn't say anything, but oh she wanted to. Instead of offering her a snippy response she tongues her cheek and raises a brow, "Fine. Leave then, let me change," she barks back, waving her hand in a gesture towards the door. Angela nodded and turned on her heels, leaving Moira behind without any complaint.

Moira let out a deep, frustrated sigh and carded her hand through her hair before continuing to disrobe, slipping out of her pristine day clothes into the ugly hospital gowns she was handed by the nurse. When she was finished securing the thin belt, she moved to knock her knuckles against the door a few times to signal for Angela to return.

The door hissed open and the blonde re-emerged from the hall, clipboard held tightly between her hands. She was acting as though nothing had happened, as if Moira hadn't just begun to take her clothes off in front of her, like they didn't kiss each other fervently, passionately, only a few days ago. The doctor wore her most plain expression and sat herself on the physician's stool, motioning for Moira to take a seat in the visitor's chair. 

Moira hesitates the slightest moment. Not out of actual hesitation, but of defiance. She wasn't about to jump when Angela said jump. So she takes her time, stalling in her place, "What is firat on the agenda, Doctor?" she asks as she slowly places herself in the seat opposite the blonde, folding one leg over the other, not bothering to concern herself with modesty as they crossed.

Angela's eyes flutter down and up in an instant, her brows furrow then her expression evens out into disinterest, "First is a psychiatric evaluation-"

"You said nothing about that."

Angela nearly rolled her eyes, placing the clipboard down on the table beside her, "All rehabilitation candidates must go through a psychiatric evaluation. I won't be the one performing it if that's what you're concerned about," she added, folding back a piece of paper on the clipboard to her left though Moira suspected she wasn't looking at anything in particular.

Moira did roll her eyes, letting out a small huff, "Fine, fine. But I am not interested in being prescribed any medications for any mental illnesses I may have, which I seriously doubt that I do."

She saw Angela stifle a comment, opening her mouth to speak but then closing it as she chewed on the thought. Then she parted her lips to speak once more, "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Moira."

Sincerity carried through her voice softly, a tone that captured Moira's attention along with her mismatched gaze. They exchanged a stare, and Moira tried to decipher what was going on behind those ocean blues but came up empty due to the short time before Angela broke the eye contact, drawing in a sharp breath and grabbing the clipboard.

"Alright, Moira. I am going to allow a psychologist to come speak with you now. You will be with them for two hours, and afterwards I will return and we will do your physical exam and bloodwork. Any questions?" The blonde stood and smoothed out her skirt, and this time Moira took a good long glance at her. Her shirt was awfully unbuttoned, and the skirt she wore hugged her curves beautifully. Her usual kitten heels did just enough to top the look off, and if it weren't for the jacket she would look like a sexy secretary in an erotic film. 

Moira shook her head, half telling her no and half pulling herself out of her daze. 

"Good."

Angela smiled, then left out the sliding door, clipboard in tow. The redhead's thoughts were reeling. Did Angela have the same thought to dress in an extra appealing way? Was she trying to lure her in? Or was she just in a mood to wear something that would entice her without wanting to entice her? She didn't have much time to mull over her scattered thoughts before the psychologist entered the room and introduced herself.

"Moira, it is lovely to meet you, I am Doctor Jóhanna Thorsdóttir," she offered a hand out, which Moira politely shook, "But please, call me Jó." 

The woman was an average height, with a strawberry blonde bobcut and simple glasses. A thick, dark grey, wool cardigan came to her mid thigh, and she carried a travel mug which Moira wondered if it was spiked. On her lower half she wore plain, comfortable jeans, and on her feet sensible sneakers. She didn't look old enough to be a doctor, at least, Moira didn't think so.

"How old are you?" Moira asked bluntly, folding her arms over her chest as her crows creased in the center.

"Twenty-eight," Jó responded with a kind smile, "I've been told I look quite young, but that's always a compliment if you ask me."

Moira didn't have anything to say back to her, just nodding and averting her eyes from the other's confident eye contact. She already felt like she was being analyzed and picked apart.

"I'll tell you some things about myself, and then you can tell me a few things about you, if that's alright," Jó sat on the doctor's stool and took a sip from her mug, taking her eyes off of her patient for the first time since she entered. Moira nodded again.

"Hm, where to begin," she drummed her fingers against the side of thr mug, looking up and to the left as she pondered, then she snapped back, returning her gaze to the redhead, "Ah, I am Icelander, moved here for schooling and stayed here ever since. I've got a cat, her name is Freyja, she just turned six last month. And let's see..." she brought her hand to her lips as her eyes searched for nothing specific, darting around in thought, "My favourite colour is midnight blue."

Satisfied, Moira nodded and cleared her throat, "Alright- I'm Irish, from Dublin. I attended university there and after graduating early I was offered a Job with Overwatch," Moira readjusted, unfolding her legs and leaning forward to bring herself back into proper posture, "Then my whole career went down the drain after I published a paper. Overwatch fired me, and Blackwatch offered me a position behind their backs."

The psychologist listens carefully as Moira rambles on, "Aside from work, I like to read. I enjoy art, music. I play piano and the fiddle, though I've lost muse for that. I had dogs as a child but not since then and I miss them but don't have the time to justify bringing one into my life. Oh, and my favourite colour is purple."

It was interesting. Moira watched the other as she spoke about herself, so attentive, not taking any notes. Listening. A drastic change from other counsellors and therapists she's met with in the past. None of those ever lasted longer than that first hour, and Moira wondered if this one would be different, if she'd be able to tolerate this woman for two hours. Only time would tell.

Jó responded quickly and comfortably, "What kind of dogs did you have?"

"Dobermans. Big babies they were, but they were perfectly trained. They were from the same litter, brother snd sister, Fitzgerald and Fionna."

"They sound wonderful. You spent a lot of time with them?"

"The dogs? Yes, I walked them daily during my teens."

"And your family? Did you spend time with them?"

Moira tensed as the other mentioned family, her jaw giving a noticable clench, "We lived under the same roof but I avoided them as best I could."

"Why did you avoid them?" Jó pressed on, carefully keeping an eye on Moira's features and body language as she listened.

Moira's face turned sour, as if she had just gotten a putrid taste in her mouth. She was becoming more and more agitated the longer they stayed on the topic of her genetic donors, "They were cruel, abusive parents. Why would I elect to be around them when they criticize my every move? When they take their anger out on me?"

Calmly, the strawberry blonde continued engaging, not allowing Moira's slowly raising voice to have any effect on her, "You sound like you have a lot of anger built up towards them."

"I do," she bit back firmly through gritted teeth.

"Would you like to talk about them?"

"Not really."

Jó nodded, taking a drink from her mug before responding, "That's alright. Did you enjoy school?"

Moira nearly laughed but she caught it in her throat, swallowing it back down, "No. I went to a Catholic school. They didn't teach anything of importance. I learned in my room, online, doing my own research."

The psychologist inquired further there, "What kind of things did you research?"

The change of topic was very much needed, and it quickly eased Moira's tension, her jaw starting to relax and her body becoming less rigid, "I read a lot about insects, the human body, general sciences. I disected plenty of bugs and dead animals I'd find outside. One time my mother walked in on me slicing open a deceased rat with a pocket knife and my father punished me heavily."

"You sound like you were very hands on as a learner," Jó commented, engaging with the redhead comfortably.

Moira nods, "I do like to work with my hands. Paperwork gets tiresome."

"I can imagine. You must get overrun with work a lot, being a scientist."

"Mhm. Always something new to examine, new theories to be tested. Always a backlog of paperwork piled on my desk." God, she can just imagine how high the stack was getting by now. She's sure some paperwork was able to be delegated to someone else, but the documents for her specifically? She doesn't even want to think about it.

"Your stress levels must be high," the psychologist starts to dig deeper, readjusting in her seat as she took another sip of whatever was in that travel mug.

"They are," Moira responded bluntly Nd sharply, seeing exactly where this was going. 

"How do you cope with that stress?"

"Whiskey. Drugs. Sex." Might as well be honest with her, Moira thought. She was already in rehab, and this was the exact reason why. And Jó was picking her apart.

"Do you know why you use these things when you're stressed?" She asked, forcing Moira to self reflect.

Moira sighed, running a hand through her hair anxiously, then another sigh, "It offers a brief escape from my thoughts and gives me a break from reality."

"Are you unhappy?"

The geneticist bit at her cheek, hesitating, "Often times I am unsatisfied with my life, yes."

"What causes these negative feelings?"

Irritation was swelling in her voice again, and she began to gesture with her hands, "Well, my career isn't going down the path I imagined and my name is a 'disgrace to science', as the scientific community put it. On top of that I am lonely. I have no family, no friends, no significant other. I live my life in solitude and misery, my projects being the only thing keeping me going."

"Would you say you struggle to form relationships with people?" Jó pries.

"Extremely."

"What do you find difficult about it?"

"I've been called insensitive and selfish."

"That isn't what I asked."

Moira gives an anxious glance away and a hand through her hair, stalling before responding, "I have a hard time relating to people, and letting people in is a struggle."

"Would you say you're guarded? That you don't like being vulnerable?"

"You could say that."

"Are you afraid of being vulnerable?"

Of course she was. She was so goddamn terrified of being vulnerable and letting her guard down, she always has been. Moira wrings her hands, staring down at them, "...Yes."

"What has happened in the past when you allowed yourself to be vulnerable?"

"Disappointment. Heartache. Rejection," she lists them off like a tally, nodding her head with each word.

"Forgive me for being cliché, but what do you think of the term 'it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all?'"

"I think that the pain isn't a fair tradeoff," Moira stated plainly.

Jó readjusts again, "Interpersonal relationships are difficult to navigate. Especially after experiencing trauma. Isolation is a way we protect ourselves, it's a defense mechanism. We don't want to get hurt, so in turn we don't allow anyone to hurt us," she explained, keeping her eyes on Moira despite Moira's eyes looking elsewhere. 

"Wow, I had no idea," she scoffs, words carried by sarcasm as she finally makes eye contact with her again.

Jó gave a small sigh, but not of irritation, "Moira, I understand acknowledging things about yourself is difficult, but that is what therapy is about. Unpacking all of those things and sorting through them, unlearning problematic behaviour. We are all guilty of having problematic behaviour, and I always recommend therapy to everyone, regardless of their lives."

"Do you have a therapist?" Moira asks, more like an interrogation.

Jó nods firmly, "I do. I wouldn't be here without him."

"And did you willingly elect to seek therapy?"

"I did-"

Moira cuts her off, interrupting her with a bite to her voice, "Then no, you don't understand."

Jó is quiet for a moment as she studies Moira, "Nobody is forcing you. We can stop at any time," she assures her in her calmest tone.

"I'm only doing this so I can see her-" Moira blurted it out, then chewed on her lip as she realized what she had just let slip through her lips. She really didn't want to bring up Angela, not to a colleague.

Confusion settles in on Jó's face, "Who?"

"Nevermind. It doesn't matter," Moira attempts to dodge the question, eyes looking anywhere but the psychologist's. 

"It seems like it does," Jó observed.

"It doesn't."

"Are you sure?"

Moira sat on that question for a good minute. Was she sure? It might feel good to talk to someone about her, about the situation. She weighs the options in her head and sighs, gaze flicking over to Jó,"...Doctor patient confidentiality, correct?"

She nods confidently, "That's right. Nothing leaves this room unless you are a danger to yourself or others."

The redhead sighs and huffs, her lip now bitten raw where she gnawed on it from anxiety, the taste of copper on her tongue, "Ziegler."

Jó retains her calm expression, but Moira wonders what she's really thinking when she asks, "Doctor Ziegler? You two were involved?"

Moira nodded slowly, "Until about six months ago. We were seeing each other for about three years."

"That is a significant amount of time."

"She's engaged now," Moira adds, unable to hold back the resentment growing on her tongue.

There's a small silence that follows, Jó almost looking sympathetic, "I saw the ring. How do you feel about that?"

"Hearing about it makes me crave death."

"The ending of a relationship can change us. We think about all the things we've done, what they've done, how it could be prevented, how we can fix things. But often times things cannot be fixed between people, and acceptance is your pathway to peace. One thing I want you to realize is that you are more than just someone's partner, Moira. Doctor Ziegler didn't complete you or make you whole, no other person can. We may feel like we are nothing without our significant others, but we are an entire being in ourselves."

Moira was silent for quite some time, turning the woman's words over in her head. She didn't feel whole. She never has. The closest she's gotten was when she was with Angela, when things were good and they'd tease each other without a hint of malice, when they touched each other, when they had coffee and rambled about their current projects. She had never had any relationship like that. She had never had a relationship in general until Angela. Moira was always the odd one out, only knowing how to communicate through sex, picking up women and fucking them before they went their separate ways. Talking wasn't the goal of the encounter, so there was scarcely any chit chat. Moira didn't get to know them, she barely remembered their names the next morning. Most she can't even remember their face, either. Sex came naturally, letting someone into her heavily shielded heart did not.

Jó waited courteously for a few moments to see if Moira would respond. When she didn't, she broke the silence gently, "We've strayed a bit off topic, I apologize," she took a drink from her mug then pulled a small pile of papers from a folder, clearing her throat and handing them to the redhead, "I have put together some questionnaires which I will ask you to fill out. Some of them are more general questions, but some may require some thinking. Please, take your time with them, and when you're ready just press the call button. Any questions before I give you some privacy?"

Moira accepted the papers with slender fingers, red and blue scanning the pages to get an idea of what she was dealing with. Some questions were regarding mood and emotional issues, cognitive function, problem solving skills, task management, among many others. 

Moira breathed a sigh of relief. She was more than happy to answer these in writing rather than in person. Some of these were more personal, and she'd rather not have the shame that comes with saying her answers out loud.

"No questions," she confirmed, eyes not leaving the page. Jó hands her a pen and clipboard, then stands with a smile, politely leaving Moira to fill out the questionnaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured we could all use a little more insight on moira. Enjoy!
> 
> Also lmao i now have 69 kudos on this work


	16. 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw for suic*de mention

The remainder of her session went on without issue, Moira mulling the questions that sat before her on the page over, as she answered them one by one. When she was finished, she did as she was instructed and pressed the call button, a nurse coming to her aid. She explained she was ready for Jó to return and collect the paper, and without much waiting the doctor was stepping back into the room.

"All finished?"

She felt like she was in school again, "I am. We're finished here for today?" She inquired, eager to get on with the process before she changed ger mind again. 

"Mhm. I'll be reviewing these in my office, along with writing down my notes. I must say, I'm pleasantly surprised at how well you opened up to me. I'm proud of you for deciding to take this step, and I look forward to more meetings with you in the future," Jó was genuine in her words, a polite smile following with a handshake were offered to the redhead.

A lithe hand came out to grip the other's firmly. Moira wasn't used to anyone saying they were proud of her, and it felt silly hearing it from a near stranger, "Until next time, then," she searched to close their encounter.

"Until next time," Jó echoes, nodding in agreement before she turns on her heels and exits through the door, leaving Moira behind in the sterile room with nothing but her thoughts to occupy her until Angela comes back. 

They were probably talking about her. Nothing too detailed but a general synopsis of their meeting, of Moira's assessed mental state. She wonders just how in depth Jó's notes would be, what exactly she would write down, and what things Angela would be able to see in her file. The thought sends a small twinge of panic through her lanky body. Angela didn't need to know about her past. Even after three years of being together, she hadn't shared much about it, but the blonde also never pried too much. She knew it was a tender spot and knew to keep her distance from it, knew not to bring it up. Moira was thankful for that, but now…

Now she was going to discover things about her.

The door hissed open and the familiar click clack of Angela's kitten heels filled the room as she entered, eyes glued to her clipboard. Oh God, what was she looking at? Was she looking at anything at all or was she just using it as an excuse not to look at Moira? The redhead shifted a bit, eyes darting nervously before she took a deep breath and calmed herself enough to speak.

"What's next?"

"Unless you'd like to discuss your session with Jó, next is blood work, a urine sample, and a general physical health exam. Blood pressure, eyes, ears, lungs, organs, and since you are female, a PAP test. Do you have any questions or concerns?"

Shit, a PAP? 

"Ah- just one. Just a clarification, really-" she cleared her throat, "Are you going to be performing the PAP test?" 

There was a brief silence following Moira's words that sent a bubble of anxiety swirling in her stomach before the other responded, "Yes. If that makes you uncomfortable I can delegate the task to another doctor-"

"No- I mean- I was just being sure. I don't have a problem with it. You're more than capable enough." Angela was definitely more than capable enough, her ability was never in question. It was the fact that Angela was going to be knuckle deep inside of her while Moira was at her complete mercy, spread open and trying not to show visible signs of arousal that she was worried about. 

"Alright, get yourself up on the bed and I'll take your blood," Angela said simply, coldly, as she turned around to collect supplies from one of the cupboards.

"Yes, doctor," Moira teased, apparently not knowing how to obey her direction without adding some kind of attitude. The blonde wasn't facing her, but Moira could swear she heard her roll her eyes.

Angela returned to the bedside with the necessary tools and placed them on a rolling tray. She selected the blue rubber strap, and Moira held out her left arm, which was promptly taken into Angela's warm hands. The strap was tightened and secured, then she prepared the needle as they waited for the veins to bulge. 

It was clear she wasn't interested in small talk and the silence began to make Moira antsy, leg bouncing as Angela prepped to stab her. It seemed like she waited forever for the needle to be brought into view and quickly slipped into her vein with a shot of pain accompanying it. The needle was retracted as fast as it entered, leaving the small tube lodged inside while Angela popped the vial into place. 

Moira tried so hard not to look at her as she worked on her arm, not to get lost in the focus behind her brilliant blue eyes, but she ultimately failed. Her stare lingered on her as vials were replaced, each one filling too quickly for Moira's liking, and before she could memorize her face in that exact moment it was over. The small tube was removed from her vein and a cotton ball was pushed firmly against the puncture wound, Angela telling her to press there while she grabbed the bandaid.

Moira did as instructed, this time without any sass, and soon Angela was placing the round bandage on the dot of red. She proceeded then to tidy, disposing of the needle and other supplies appropriately before handing Moira a sample cup. 

"Go on. I presume you know where the bathroom is," Angela taunted her, folding her arms over her chest.

The geneticist gave a sarcastic smile in response. Then she sighed and ran a hand through her now disheveled red locks as she rose from the bed and slipped into the bathroom that was connected to her private room. The perks of working here, she assumes.

When Moira emerged back out from the washroom Angela was gathering more medical supplies. Most notably, the blood pressure cuff. Moira placed the urine sample on the table next to her then took her place back on the bed, paper crinkling under her weight. 

"You are dehydrated," Angela stated plainly as she eyed the container, "Once we are finished with the exams I am going to set you up with an IV and start getting fluids in you."

"Along with other things, I'm sure," Moira added. She wasn't clueless as to how these things go, having researched a bit about it once or twice when she'd thought about getting clean before. Withdrawals were brutal, and drugs were needed to help aid the symptoms from those withdrawals, which is ironic in itself. But Moira would be getting a cocktail of different medications to ensure she doesn't die from the stress to her body and mind.

Angela nodded, unfurling the blood pressure cuff to wrap it around Moira's thin arm, "Correct. But first just a simple rehydration solution. Once we receive your lab results back, hopefully by the end of the day, that is when we can administer the other medications," she explained, tightening the cuff a bit before holding a finger up, "Now be quiet."

"Sick of hearing my voice already?"

"I am trying to take your blood pressure, Miss O'Deorain. Now quiet."

Moira rolled her eyes but held her tongue as Angela stuck the earpieces of her stethoscope in, the cold drum being pressed firmly against Moira's arm while she pumped and the cuff expanded. 

"Jesus fucking Christ, tight enough?"

"Shh-" Angela snapped at her, repeating the process a few times to be sure before letting the pressure release, "It's high, as expected," she stated, setting the blood pressure cuff and equipment back in its place. She wasted little time moving on to the next task, picking up the otoscope. But instead of telling Moira to readjust, her free hand comes to the redhead's sharp jaw to turn her head to the left.

Moira's heart thrummed in her chest as she felt Angela's fingertips on her skin, then the intrusion in her ear brought her back to reality abruptly, but she still didn't fail to notice the warmth of the doctor's breath on her neck as she peered inside of her head. In a second her head was being turned the other way, and in another the ear exam was done all together. 

"Your ears are fine," she informs her, the next words coming in a mumble under her breath, "Could have fooled me, you never listen-"

"Repeat that for me?"

"No." Angela said firmly as she selected the next instrument, an ophthalmoscope. 

All of a sudden Angela's eyes were focusing in on her, the blonde's face mere inches from Moira's as she held the device up to both of their eyes. Now she could really feel her breath, the faint bite of coffee breezing over Moira's lips. Their gazes were interlocked for what felt like hours, only maybe thirty seconds actually passing by, red and blue wide and glued to the woman in front of her. Then the scope was lowered.

Moira wasn't sure what Angela's expression read, but there was definitely something written in her features as the air hung between them. Angela's eyes flutter downward to Moira's barely parted lips, pink and flushed, as were her cheeks, then back up to vibrant red and blue before clearing her throat.

"Your ah- left eye is excellent. Very good eye- I mean vision. Now the right-"

Before Moira could say or do whatever impulsive thing she was about to do Angela brought the ophthalmoscope back up between them. She spent more time on this one, and Moira knew a scolding was coming.

"Oh my-" Angela breathed, pulling the scope away once more, "You really should be wearing glasses. If you keep straining this eye you won't even have a right eye pretty soon. I'm going to have an optometrist come in and do a full eye exam at some point in the next day or so."

The blonde moved herself closer to the table where Moira's file sat and scrawled down a few notes. The redhead had to at least put up a bit of a fight. She hates how she looks in glasses, but she knows Angela will have her way in the end. 

"I don't believe that will be necessary," Moira plainly replied.

"Oh?" Angela raised a brow, "Do you have a black market transplant waiting for you? Or is it another questionable piece of your work that will save your eye?"

"I'm not wearing glasses."

"Then you can wear contacts."

Moira sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically, "It isn't as bad as you're making it out to be. I'm not going to lose my damn eye, Angela, it's been like this since birth."

"Which is exactly why you need to be even more vigilant now," Angela sighed as well, a moment of brief silence following before she continues, "I'm having the optometrist come see you, whether you decide to wear the glasses or lenses is up to you. I unfortunately can't force you."

"No, you most certainly can't," Moira snapped back.

Another kind of expression graced Angela's heavenly features. Disappointment? Maybe. That one hurt the redhead, a pang of guilt and regret echoing through her.

The doctor continued with the exam, bringing the stethoscope buds to her ears once more then pressing the drum to Moira's chest.

"Deep breath in," Angela instructed, Moira obeyed, "And out."

This process was repeated in different areas of her chest, back and ribs, and once she was finished Moira gave a small cough. Smoker's lungs, Angela would surely comment on that. The woman never passed up an opportunity to heckle her over the habit.

"Smoking a lot lately?"

Moira almost snickered to herself at how predictable she was, but buried it down in favour of a proper response, "I have been, yes."

"You know it's damaging your lungs, correct? And it isn't as if you're getting any younger, the sooner you quit the better. I strongly suggest kicking the nasty addiction while you are here detoxing."

"Do you want me to end up murdering one of the nurses? No. No way."

"Do you want to get lung cancer?"

"I'm not going to get lung cancer."

"But what if you did, Moira?"

The doctor facade had fallen away. This was Angela speaking to Moira. This was Angela caring about Moira, worrying about her. At least, she thinks that's what this is.

"What if it did? Maybe it would kill me, put me out of my misery for good. Finish the job that the car crash couldn't."

Does Moira want to die? Yes and no. Has she thought about it extensively? Without a doubt. But this was Moira gauging Angela's reaction, observing her response. 

Angela set the pen she was holding down with a hard clack against the table, her gaze boiling with anger just begging to spill out, "Stop it, Moira. You don't want to die, you are just trying to get a reaction out of me and you are not going to get one. That being said, if you're seriously having thoughts of suicide then we will be starting you on an anti-depressant to go along with your therapy," she returned to writing in Moira's file, angrily scribbling on the paper.

Moira's brows furrowed and she pursed her lips and cleared her throat quietly before speaking, "Oh, I've thought about it, Angela. Countless times. I've wished for it, as well. You'd know that if you cared enough to ask."

Angela looked taken aback, but her surprise at Moira's audacity quickly twisted back into anger, this time mixed with a dash of hurt, "That isn't- that is not what this is about-"

"I have been fucking miserable for months, Angela. Ever since- ever since I got back from that conference and Amari told me you were in a coma. I do think about it. Every day. I have wished that the crash killed me," by the end of her words her eyes began to well up, glistening red and blue almost sparkling as the light bounced off of her tears.

Angela was hesitant, not knowing what to do or say, "I am sorry, Moira, no one should ever feel that way. Let me help you, get you on a medication-"

"Why? So I can become some fucking zombie?" Moira wasn't keen on the idea of medications for mental health. For other people, she strongly supported it, but for herself? No.

"So that your suicidal thoughts ease up," Angela combatted. 

"Why do you even care?"

Angela paused, biting her lip for a moment as she thought hard on the question, "because you are my patient. I want the best for all of my patients."

Moira scoffed and tongued her cheek, "Right. Of course," she conceded, "I'm just another patient," she sighed and scratched at the back of her head, "Fine. Give me whatever you like."

The quiet in the room was uncomfortable and Moira could tell Angela was holding her tongue as her eyes fixated on the redhead's file once again. After a few seconds of idly folding the corner of the page back and forth, she gave a small sigh and turned to face her. Hesitantly, she rolled the chair a bit closer to Moira and reached for her hand, "I don't enjoy seeing you hurting, Moira. I want to help you."

The geneticist jerked away from the touch, avoiding eye contact, "You want to fix me."

Angela's voice was soft and concerned, if slightly irritated by Moira's stubbornness, "I want to assist you in becoming emotionally and mentally stable. You are clearly in distress," she tries for the woman's hand again, this time able to wrap her fingers around Moira's before they're snatched away again.

"No- you're trying to change me! Turn me into something I'm not!" Her voice raised considerably as she finally glared the blonde down, hurt and shame in her uneven eyes.

Angela looked bewildered, shaking her head slightly, "What are you talking about? Change you? Into what?"

"You've just always viewed me as a project, as something flawed that needs to be fixed," Moira elaborated, her voice coming down in volume again.

"That is not true," the doctor said firmly, pulling her hands back into her lap. Now she was the one staring at the floor, her shoes, her hands, anything not to look Moira in the eyes.

"Isn't it?" She challenged her.

"No, it isn't."

Moira stood then, unable to stay still as she felt the need to pace rattle in her legs, "Explain to me then, Angela. Explain to me what you view me as. Broken? Mentally unstable? Just another patient?"

Angela rolled back to the table, turning herself away from the looming Irishwoman, "I don't have to explain anything to you-"

Moira approached her side, resting her palm on the table as she leaned, "No, go on please, I'd love to see what the angel of Overwatch truly thinks of me behind her kind, caring doctor exterior-"

Furious, Angela shot up off of the stool, folding her arms across her chest like she always did when she was mad, "Fine! You want to know what I think, Moira? I think you are brilliant! One of the most brilliant people I've ever known. I see you as an innovative mind in the scientific community and your ideas, while controversial, are undoubtedly impressive," she took a deep breath, Moira looking at her stunned, then she continued in a more calm tone, "But I also view you as someone who has a skewed understanding of right and wrong, likely due to trauma. I view you as someone under emotional distress and anguish, someone that has used substances to dull all those negative feelings. But ultimately, I view you as someone deserving of happiness. I just want to see you doing well. I care about your wellbeing."

Moira's head was reeling. Hearing that Angela thought she was brilliant made her heart swell. But in that same breath, hearing the pity in her voice that followed made her stomach sick, twisting violently into a knot. Did Angela really care or did she care like a doctor?

Quietly, after too long of a moment, her voice cracks the silence between them, "Because I'm a patient, right?" 

Angela's brows furrowed as she sighed, arms falling out of their crossed position for a hand to be brought up to push a few strands of stray red out of the older woman's face, "No, Moira, because you're you," she cupped her cheek and they shared a long moment of unbroken eye contact as Moira savoured the warmth of Angela's palm on her skin.

The geneticist's eyes fell closed, and without better judgement she let herself speak, "I miss you, Ange," Moira's hands found Angela's hips, then they ran up her back to pull her into an embrace. She just wanted to hold her, just for a minute. 

The blonde allowed herself to be held, her face burying in Moira's chest and her hand's dropping to wrap her arms around the woman's thin waist, "I- Moira…"

"Shh, please. Just stay like this, just for a minute, please-" she hushed her, pressing a kiss to her head as she inhaled the lingering scent of shampoo in her hair.

"Moira, we can't do this-"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything."

"Moira-"

The redhead's voice became almost desperate, frustrated and needy, "Just one fucking minute, Angela, it won't kill you. Please."

Angela sighed, tightening her hold around Moira's much too thin waist, "Alright." 

They stood there in that embrace silently for a whole minute, maybe even two. Their bodies sank into each other so naturally, fitting together like puzzle pieces. It felt right.

But then it was over, and Moira felt the other's hold release, hands finding her hips instead. Moira pulled back to look down at the blonde, her blue eyes slightly lidded as they stared back. 

The doctor regained proper hold of herself after a moment, taking her hands off of Moira and moving a step back as she cleared her throat, "Right. Well- I think it is time for you to have lunch, yes? I'll have someone bring it in right away. Excuse me-" 

Before Moira could say anything she had breezed out the door, the only thing returning for the next hour being the tray of garbage they call food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im sorry theres more angst i cant help it
> 
> Im starting a playlist for this damn fic btw :)


	17. 17

Moira's lunch sat there the entire hour, the redhead's appetite not present whatsoever, especially after everything that had just happened, the storm of emotion that tore through her, the embrace her and Angela became tangled in. The woman had humoured her, allowed it to happen, accepted her request for physical contact after she practically begged for it. 

The memory replayed in her head over and over during the hour she was left to herself, ignoring the gruel on her plate. The way Angela had brushed her hair out of her face so endearingly, how her hands fell to Moira's hips and snaked around until they hooked behind the tall woman's back. How she pressed her face into Moira's chest like she used to, and how Moira could swear she heard her inhale her scent. She felt at peace in those few moments, comfortable, safe, and it gave her a high that nothing compared to. The realization hit her.

Angela was her favourite drug, and she was already itching for another hit.

A few minutes after the hour Angela reappeared through the door, Moira's eyes shooting up to meet her as butterflies swelled in her chest. 

"Are you ready to continue?" Angela asked simply, not addressing the prior events while her eyes flicked to the untouched plate, then back to Moira.

"Are you?" Moira returned the question, perking a brow. Angela had rushed out rather quickly after their embrace and she could sense the nervousness in how she carried herself despite her usual polite, doctorly appearance. 

Angela froze for a second, their eyes locking on each other before she nods, "Yes, I am ready. I just need to set out the supplies for the PAP," she explained, heading to the cabinets to collect everything.

Moira's heart hammered. Right. The PAP. Angela's fingers were going to be inside of her again, even if only briefly. Professionally. It was still more than she had gotten in months, and while she was eager for it, she was also as nervous as ever loving Hell. 

"Right. Shall I ah- lay down then?" Moira asked, a small waver in her voice.

Angela just nodded.

The redhead took a deep, silent breath, then stood from the visitor's chair to lay herself down on the exam table across the room. Should she spread her legs already? Should she cross them? What should she do with her arms? Moira had never been so painfully aware of her body, so completely vulnerable. 

Angela had set all the equipment on a rolling tray, moving it along with her as she approached her anxious patient. She must have sensed the apprehension, because she pointed it out blatantly, "Are you feeling alright?"

Moira swallowed thickly, mouth dry as she nodded, the hair on the back of her head rubbing against the pillow, "I'm fine."

Was she fine? Was Angela fine? What was Angela thinking? What was she feeling? What was Moira feeling?

There were so many questions she wanted answered, but no way to solve the riddle. All she could do was comply. 

"Alright then," the doctor pulled the stirrups from the innards of the exam table, prompting Moira to reposition, "Just place your heels there."

"I know how a PAP test works, Angela, I have had them before," she gives a sarcastic reminder, doing as she's told. This might be the most obedient she's ever been for her.

"Force of habit," Angela replied, her words punctuated with the snap of latex as she slips her gloves on. The sound sent a pulse through Moira's core, the sight of Angela between her thighs already sending her over the top. A deep rouge swells over her cheeks, and her mouth was even more dry than it was before.

Moira watched Angela intently, lubrication being applied to her index and middle finger, though she probably won't even need it at this point. The geneticist was already uncomfortably wet just from observing Angela prep everything and slip on those blue latex gloves. She always loved watching her work, this time was just more personal. She was the patient, and Angela was examining her genitals. 

A small sigh leaves the blonde, "I am going to insert two fingers. Let me know if there is any pain or discomfort," she looked up at Moira through her parted thighs, an expression of concern and focus overtaking her features.

A quick nod to signify that she understood was enough for Angela to begin. The lubrication was cold against her entrance, causing her breath to hitch and gooseflesh to prickle over her thighs.

Blue eyes flashed upwards toward Moira and she paused before going further, checking in with the redhead, "Feeling okay?" Her tone dripped with an over exaggerated 'Mercy' quality. The same kind she used to tease her with, the one that would cause Moira to beg. Her muscles tensed, but she forced herself to relax, feeling Angela's fingertips still at the sudden clenching of her walls. 

Moira nodded again, "Yes," she answered her verbally, breathlessly. She wanted to urge her on, beg the doctor to take advantage of her. Moira has watched far too much pornography not to have the sinful scenarios playing in her head, guiding her thoughts to lewd places. They've done this scenario before, at Moira's request, and it started much the same as it was going right now. Was Angela thinking about it too? About the way the redhead parted her thighs slightly more once her fingers pushed in? 

Like she was doing right now. 

Angela's piercing blue eyes lidded slightly as they lingered on her patient, pushing her fingers slowly inside of her. Moira could feel her stare on her as she let her own eyes fall closed, her lips parted barely but beautifully, the crease between her brow present but not from discomfort. It took everything in her to stifle the moan forming in her throat, her cunt tightening around Angela's digits.

"Just relax, Moira. Breathe."

Angela's voice was like honey, sweet and comforting and smooth, and it only helped Moira get lost in her fantasy. She did as she was told, inhaling full breaths and allowing her body to relax, eyes still shut and mouth still hanging open a tad. Angela pushed deeper, then rotated her wrist to press her fingertips upward, prodding her g-spot briefly, teasingly, before moving elsewhere.

The doctor's free hand came up to rest on Moira's abdomen, pressing multiple areas as the other hand continued examining inside of her. The process seemed to go on longer than exams she's had in the past. It was that or Moira was lost in time, Angela's touch stopping the spin of the Earth. Either way, she wasn't complaining. But before she knew it she got so caught up in mwmories and fantasies that a strangled moan squeaked out of her hoarse throat.

It was definitely loud enough for Angela to hear, and Moira's eyes shot open at the realization, being met with wide frosty blue irises from between her legs. The doctor hesitated for a moment, movement stopping inside of her patient abruptly. Fingertips are pressed against that perfect spot once more, then she's left empty as Angela retracts.

Moira bites back another moan, more of a whimper, her gaze averting immediately from the other.

"N-No abnormalities," Angela muttered quietly, removing her gloves and tossing them into the disposal. She placed new gloves on her hands, then silently prepared the speculum for insertion, coating it in a generous amount of the lubrication.

Both women took a deep breath, but only Angela spoke, composure regained and her sweetened tone returned, "Relax your muscles. Breathe for me."

Moira let herself fall back into her fantasy quickly, bracing for the penetration of cold metal. No amount of mental preparation could prevent the gasped breath that shuddered through her teeth as the device was inserted, slowly. She could feel every inch being slid deeper, and every unintentional tightening of her walls. The tool was knocked against Moira's cervix, and another moan spilled from her lips before it began to open, spreading her apart uncomfortably in the best way possible. 

She glanced down, watching Angela for a brief moment, the blonde focused on Moira's insides. The hottest flush emerged in the redhead's cheeks as her eyes fluttered shut again, and she felt her cunt pulse with arousal as she was on display for the doctor, being seen fully and completely. There were many seconds where she laid there open before the sound of sterile packaging being torn into, and even more seconds ticked by before the swab was scraping against her cervix.

Then she felt the device slowly loosen and herself slowly close. All at once the speculum was removed, and Moira held back a sound of reluctance and the empty feeling.

"Alright, all done. You can make yourself comfortable again," Angela announced, beginning to tidy up the soiled supplies, eye contact not being made.

No, don't stop. Touch me. Fuck me. Please.

None of those words were spoken by the redhead despite her vicious urge to pull Angela on top of her and feel her fingers working inside her again, have her mouth biting bruises into her collar while she moaned for her angel. She wanted their lips to collide, their bodies pressed flush and nude against each other. She wanted all of Angela.

But all she got was a rushed doctor, breezing through the conclusion of her exams, "I'll have the results for everything by tomorrow. I will see you then, Miss O'Deorain."

Moira only nodded, red and blue studying the blonde who refused to meet her gaze as she turned on her kitten heels and took her leave, the redhead left behind with her legs still open and her cunt still slick with her own wetness and added lubrication, and her goddamn thoughts that wouldn't stop racing now that she wasn't distracted.

Did Angela purposely take her sweet time with Moira's pelvic exam? Was she using her job as an excuse to touch her without feeling guilty about Fareeha? Was she as wet as the geneticist? Did Angela want to fuck her? Could Moira get away with touching herself in her private room, before a nurse comes in to check on her?

The answer to that last one was quite clearly 'I don't give a fuck I'm doing it anyways', Moira's hand already moving between her legs to finish the job Angela started while the memory of her touch replayed in her head over and over and over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:)


	18. 18

Thank God Moira was an employee, or else she'd be stuck in one of the ghastly shared rooms, forced to cohabitate with some stranger she already hated, doomed to having no privacy, nowhere to escape to for the next however long. Even just the thought made her face sour. Luckily, she woke in her secluded room after an unrestful sleep, breakfast being brought shortly after which she only picked at.

She was already starting to feel the withdrawal; the irritability, the restlessness, the dull ache in the back of her skull. This was already the longest she'd gone without a drink in a decade, and she knew the other symptoms would follow shortly. So rather than wait in her bed, she took advantage of her private room and made way for the en suite shower. 

The showerhead was unfortunately too short for her, but she made do. The geneticist remembered to pack shampoo and conditioner, along with her skin cleansers and many serums and moisturizers she used daily. Grooming herself was an adequate distraction from the gnawing urge to smoke and drink and consume any substance she possibly could, the scalding heat of the water pelting against her skin providing enough pain to keep her mind off of it for the most part. 

The tap was turned off and the tall, gangly woman stepped out of the shower and onto the mat, pulling a towel off the rack and wrapping it around her waist. Then she pulled a second towel to wrap around the soaked red mop on her head.

She carried on with her routine, applying various skin care products to her fresh face, spending nearly ten minutes rubbing them all in before emerging from the bathroom to let her skin absorb everything prior to makeup application.

As soon as she stepped out of the door she was met with Ziegler's wide, blue eyes. But they weren't fixated on Moira's, rather they trailed down to the geneticist's bare chest, small breasts perky and nipples erect from the chill of the room.

Moira just froze, her own eyes locked like a deer in headlights, tongue tied as Angela's cheeks flush a deep red. The doctor quickly whirls around and b-lines it out of the room, a blend of swiss german curses leaving her, along with Moira's name tagged on the end. 

The redhead was left as she was, half nude and in shock of what just happened. It isn't so much that she's embarrassed, but it still took her a few seconds to process the series of events.

Angela blushed. She could chalk it up to Angela being very easy to fluster, or just plain surprise, but it boosted Moira's ego to think she might have enjoyed what she saw, so that's what she chose to believe. With a cocky grin, she dresses herself in a fresh gown and black boxer briefs before tapping her knuckles against the door to see if Angela was waiting in the hall.

"Are you decent?" Angela's voice wavered through the door.

"No, I'm completely nude and splayed out for you. Yes, I'm decent." 

It wasn't a completely out of character image, but it was obscene enough for Angela to pick up on the blatant sarcasm that dripped from her tone, the door hissing open and vanishing into the wall as the blonde stormed passed Moira.

"What's the matter, doctor? You've seen countless bodies before, haven't you?" The geneticist teased, following her deeper into the sterile room.

Angela turned around, arms crossed, with a steely, cold stare, "Don't."

Moira perked a brow, eyeing Angela up and down and mirroring her body language, folding her arms over her chest, "Liked what you saw? Can't say I blame you-"

"Actually, I was taking notice of how much weight you've lost since...since I saw you last-"

"In the flesh." Moira finished for her, a cocky half smirk on her lips.

"Yes. You are malnourished. And you haven't been eating, I see," she nodded toward the barely picked at plate of breakfast on the rolling cart next to her bed.

Moira rolled her eyes and paced to a different spot, eyes rolling with a sigh, "The food here is vile, Angela, I am not eating that inedible swill."

"You will just have to get used to it, Miss O'Deorain," she stayed firm.

Again with the formalities. "Or I could just continue to not eat," Moira combatted.

Angela smiled weakly, "Then we will have to put you on a feeding tube, yes?" the doctor quipped back.

"Angela-"

The blonde shook her head, brows furrowed as she held the position of arms crossed, "No, you are not getting special treatment. End of story," her tone was harsh and clipped, stern and authoritative, as she turned her attention to Moira's file resting on the desk, flipping through the pages aggressively.

Moira sighed and brought a hand up to scratch at the back of her neck, then to rake through her hair, "I haven't had an appetite for months, alright? Eating makes me nauseous," she admitted, red and blue dodging the other and fixating on the floor tiles.

The doctor was quick to reply, having a solution on the tip of her tongue and stating it very matter of factly, "I will provide an antiemetic to assist with that."

Irritated defeat showed on Moira's sharp features as she shook her head and shrugged her bony shoulders, "Really, Angela, you know I can't put this shit in my body. It's repulsive."

"Funny, you can put drugs in your body but not oatmeal," it was half mumbled and under her breath, but it was most definitely legible, and there was a moment where both women froze, Moira's piercing eyes glued to Angela, and Angela's eyes avoiding Moira's direction completely. 

The moment is of silence is cut by a blunt tone, plain and unenthused save for the lick of her Irish accent, "It tastes like fucking cement."

At last Angela's gaze shoots over to her, lingering for a moment on thin lips, "Let's hope it actually is cement and it seals your mouth shut."

Red and blue narrowed as she gnawed at her bottom lip, folding one arm across her chest for her other elbow to rest upon, hand coming to her mouth in thought, brows raised, "Do you speak to all your patients like that?"

Ziegler's sickly sweet trademark 'Mercy' smile turned her stomach, "No, just you."

"So I'm special?" Moira teased, taking a step toward the other.

Where Moira expected Angela to take a step back, she takes a step forward instead, craning her neck upward to look the geneticist in the eyes, her own half lidded, "Especially irritating, yes." She punctuates her words by turning away with a click of her heels, refocusing herself on Moira's file.

Moira was not one to back down so easily. Angela wasn't going to have the last word here. She rounds the room to the other side slowly, eyeing the other woman up the entire time, "That's not what you used to think."

Angela let out a laugh, keeping her stare on the papers she was flipping through "Oh, trust me, you were irritating back then, as well."

The lanky redhead steps to Angela's side, tilting her head to see her face hidden under hanging side bangs, "Do you fuck everyone you find irritating?"

The doctor rolled her eyes and took a deep breath in, trying to regain composure after Moira's vulgar question, "I believe we are getting a bit off track. Let's get back on route with your treatment, yes?"

"Ah, so you do, then."

"Moira, stop it," the file was shut with force, her palm slamming down on the cover as she turned to face the other head on, "I am not going to be dragged into your mind games, and I am certainly not entertaining this inappropriate conversation. This will stop immediately or I won't hesitate to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR, understood?" She took another deep breath that sounded like a sigh and a huff at the same time, shaking her bangs out of her face, then bringing a hand up to ultimately tuck the strand behind her ear before crossing her arms once again, "Now, are we continuing your treatment or not?"

The redhead chewed her bottom lip, eyes watching the fury behind Angela's, "Fine. But I would like to say one thing-"

"No. I will not be discussing personal matters with you while I am on the clock any longer," Angela was firm, unwavering, stomping on Moira's thought before it could leave her.

"You're always on the clock," she bit back with irritation, and perhaps a tad of desperation.

"Precisely."

There was a long silence as they stared each other down, Moira's lip nearly bleeding from her anxious biting. Finally, Moira conceded, gesturing with one of her lithe hands and a tone lacquered in contempt, "Alright then, doctor. As you wish."

Moira could tell Angela struggled not to make a face, her doctorly, professional persona taking over once again, albeit a bit short tempered, "Good. Now, I am going to be putting a few different medications in your IV, I can provide you a list at your request, but since you decided you just had to take your IV out for a shower we will have to administer a new one. Sit," she ordered the redhead, nodding her head towards the exam table. The same table Moira was laying on while she was moaning with Angela's fingers inside of her. 

Moira swallowed, then followed her command as the blonde collected the medical supplies. Her long legs take her to the table in a few strides and she sits on the edge, waiting for Angela to drive the needle into her vein.

The back of her hand was wiped with an alcohol swab, then left for a moment to dry, Angela keeping her eyes on her work rather than the person she was working on, silent save for the exhale of her breaths. Moira's eyes watch her, observing, regarding her beauty until she feels the sharp stab that pulls her gaze from blue irises down to her now tensed hand.

That was odd. Angela was usually undetectable when administering an IV. Was she having an off day? Moira found herself sifting through thoughts and scenarios and probabilities and possibilities. Even when she's sleep deprived she doesn't fuck up, so either something is really weighing on her or she's doing it on purpose. It really could be either one, but Moira ventured deeper into the former theory out of curiosity. Were Angela and Fareeha having problems? Did she have a bad outcome with another patient? Was she too distracted by Moira to do it properly? Was she thinking about her? Was she picturing her as she was the previous day, flushed and writhing and at her complete mercy as she all but fucked the redhead during a pelvic exam? God, what she wouldn't give to get inside Angela's head, hear her thoughts-

"Verdammt-" Angela huffed, blood starting to rise out of the puncture mark that was definitely not going to take the IV.

The doctor removes the intrusion from Moira's hand, taking a deep breath and refocusing herself before going in for another attempt.

"Are you alright, doctor?" Moira asked tauntingly, condescendingly.

"I am fine, thank you," she was polite but not kind, her words coming out in a harsh snap as the needle was jammed in again, this time causing Moira to wince.

"Jesus christ- Did you at least get it?" Moira questioned, brows pinched together in discomfort. Maybe she really *was* doing it on purpose.

"Yes, Miss O'Deorain, I did."

"I know I'm kinky but being poked over and over again with a needle isn't what I'd call sexy," Moira chided, flexing out the tenderness in her hand. It was definitely going to bruise.

"Moira-"

"Really, Angela, you know what I like-"

"Moira, stop it! If you are going to behave like this I will assign another doctor to your treatment plan. I thought it might be easier for you to do this with someone you know, but clearly that someone being me is too much for you to handle-"

Goddamn it.

Moira sighs in defeat. She didn't want Angela to shove her off onto some other poor soul. Most of the reason she's even doing rehab is so she can see her, if Moira let her have her way it will all be for nothing.

"I don't want anyone else. I'm sorry. I'll restrain myself, I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Really, I will. If you give me to someone else I'm walking out of the program. I don't want anyone else."

Angela was quiet for a moment, weighing her options, "One more outburst and I will report you without hesitation," she warned her, poking her sternum harshly with her middle and forefinger.

"Understood. You'll be administering the IV medications now, then?" Moira tried to redirect the mood, distract Angela by talking about the treatment.

"Correct. It'll help ease the symptoms of your detox; irritability, nausea, chills and aches. But it won't eliminate it completely, I hope you are aware," she explains, drawing up a syringe with one of the vials she had spread out on the rolling cart. 

Moira nodded, "I've done my research. I know it won't be pleasant."

"Patients often underestimate just how unpleasant it will be," Angela added, bringing the needle to the IV drip and injecting it. 

"I'm sure. But I'm not 'most patients'."

"You're right about that."

\-----

The remainder of her time with Angela for the day went smoothly, the mood not shifting one way or the other. She of course had other patients to tend to once Moira was taken care of, leaving Moira to work from her laptop despite being confined to her room. 

Focusing was an issue. The geneticist wanted badly to delve into the paper she was in the middle of writing, but her thoughts wouldn't stay in one place, and as the hours droned on she found herself feeling worse and worse.

Nothing was the same without a cigarette in her hand and a drink on the table. And she definitely wasn't as productive as she would have been had she had a bump or two of cocaine. Moira was already yearning for her vices, her habits. She had already chewed her lip raw and her joints were aching from cracking them every five minutes, a substitute between her fingers was desperately needed. 

Moira looks around, searching for something she can hold like a smoke; a straw, pen, anything. She settles for a thin pen on the side table, twirling it between her fingers and lifting it to her mouth to bite at the end.

It was better but not by much. The urge barely subsided, cravings lingering, but it still felt more satisfying than having nothing. Regardless of her efforts she was still unable to focus, and she succumbed to browsing the internet idly.

How she ended up on Angela's profile she couldn't remember, but suddenly she was scrolling through statuses and photographs of her with Fareeha. Countless people congratulated her, wished her and Amari a lifetime of happiness, and Moira couldn't help but imagine herself in Fareeha's place. She had never been one for marriage, the whole idea seeming pointless to the redhead, especially after the shit show that was her parents' marriage. 

But the more she thought about it, the more she wanted it. To declare to the world that she loved Angela Ziegler, and would move Heaven and Earth for her. To celebrate their love and commitment to one another. Picking out decorations and themes and dresses, flowers and food and music. To start a family with her, have Angela carry her child. To raise those children together. To grow old together. 

Die together.

Was Angela really so set on having all of that with Fareeha? Had she truly moved on enough from Moira to have the rest of her life decided? It didn't feel like it when they kissed, when Angela kissed back. It didn't feel like she was over her when she was taking her sweet time prodding Moira's cervix. She had to be having second thoughts about everything. If she is having second thoughts, has she discussed anything with Fareeha? Does she even know Angela is spearheading Moira's rehabilitation? 

She slams her laptop shut, closing it on the image of the happy couple, and takes a few deep breaths. How the fuck was she supposed to calm down without a smoke or a drink? If she thought coping was difficult before, it was damn near impossible now.

Anxiety flourished in a hot bloom within her chest, shooting through her limbs and collecting in her extremities. The wave was escorted by swirling emotions sloshing in her stomach, twisting and turning and cramping violently, all while her breathing grew rapid and panicked and shallow.

A sharp pain stabbed within her chest in the midst of her panic, causing her to jolt and clasp a hand over her heart, a whimper leaving her. Was she having a heart attack? Was she finally dying? If she was, she wanted Angela here.

With that thought in her mind, she slammed her fingers down on the call button, and when that didn't make someone come fast enough she let out a weak, scared holler.

What seemed like countless minutes sitting there with her hand clutched over her chest, breathless and numb and in pain, was actually only a few seconds. The nurse rushed in, and Moira immediately protested, shaking her head as she rocked back and forth on the bed hyperventilating, tears rolling down her cheeks, "Angela- I want Angela."

One nurse spoke to the other and left, seemingly being ordered to go find Ziegler while she assisted Moira immediately. The redhead barely registered what was happening until she was being examined by the nurse, then shortly thereafter she was being told she was okay, and just to breathe.

It fell on deaf ears, Moira in a spiralling hellfire of desensitizing anxiety, completely shut off from the world save for the glow of light from the hallway where finally Angela rushed through the door.

Angela's hands were on her, doing her own examination. Feeling her pulse, flashing a light in her eyes. The warmth of her touch broke through the barrier of her panic, but it was short lived before the doctor filled a syringe with a vial she called to one of the nurses for, plunging it into the IV.

Then Moira could hear her telling the nurses to go, that she can handle it from here, then the faint click of a door behind them as they left. 

Angela placed her hands on either side of Moira's clammy, flushed, tear drenched face, "Shh, mein liebe, everything is alright," she whispered in her most sweet, soothing tone, thumb rubbing gently over Moira's cheekbone, "The medication will take effect soon, just breathe with me."

God, she felt like her heart was going to explode, and it took everything in her to hear Angela's words through the deafening pulse of blood pumping through her ears, but she nodded sharply in response, her eyes shutting tight over glimmering red and blue as she tried to gain control of her breathing.

But every time she attempted to slow it, stop it, or regulate it in any way a choked sob would leave her, followed by a deep gasp. She leaned forward further into Angela and was welcomed with the warmth of her arms wrapping around her too thin frame, her chest rising and falling at a vicious rate, coughing between whimpers and wails.

"It's okay, I am here."

That was all it took for the flood gates to open, Moira crumpling in on herself and all but screaming through the river of tears that flowed from her. Panic melted into agony and sadness, breathing still fast but not as desperate as it was. Moira's bony hands searched for something to hold onto and found Angela's doctor's coat, fingers wringing the fabric on either side of her chest.

Did Angela know why she was having a breakdown? Did she understand? Did she feel guilty? Moira's thoughts couldn't even delve deeper into those questions in her current state. 

She has never felt smaller.

She feels Angela pull back, feels those crisp blue eyes on her, and she's hesitant to look up. She doesn't want Angela to see her like this, flushed, eyes puffy and wet. Ugly. 

She was ugly. Inside and out.

"Look at me-" one of Angela's hands comes under Moira's chin, guiding her gaze upward, "You are safe. You are okay," she assured her, all of her calm and soothing and familiar enough to comfort the redhead. Red and blue stared into Angela's eyes, her cries ceasing as she became lost at sea with the other's touch on her cheek once again.

The dim lighting of the room made Angela glow, light catching on each heavenly feature as their gazes stayed locked on one another. She shouldn't kiss her. She shouldn't. But she wanted to.

And she did.

She pulled Angela in by her coat, pressing their lips together firmly, feeling another overflow of tears rush over her cheeks. Moira feels her pull away slightly, a surprised noise catching in her throat shifting into a hum, clearly a battle going on in her head. Moira doesn't stop, her hands releasing their grip on the fabric to find Angela's neck and push deeper into the kiss, parting her lips slightly to guide the other.

When she is denied entry, Angela's lips staying firmly closed yet not pulling away fully, Moira mumbles against them, "Please- please, Ange-" she begs her with a whimper.

"I'm sorry, Moira-" she whispered back, lips brushing against the others as she speaks. Her hands find either side of the redhead's angular face, and she pulls back only to press a soft kiss to her forehead before standing, Moira's arm's following until they broke from Angela and slumped beside her.

"Don't leave me- please, Angela," Moira's words come out in a pathetic plea, useless and pointless as she watches the blonde back up slowly towards the door.

"I have other patients, Moira, I have no choice. Even if I did-" she pauses, teeth tugging at her bottom lip, "I have to go. Goodnight."

The door shut behind her with a click and Moira threw herself back onto the bed, pulling the pillow over her face and screaming until her throat felt like it was torn apart. 

Fucking god damn it. Fuck Fareeha. Fuck Angela's morals. Fuck everything. What was even the point of being here? Why was she even trying to get clean? She had no reason now, she should just get up and walk out. Just rip the IV out of her hand and ride the elevator down to her dorm where she had every last vice stashed away somewhere. 

So why didn't she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I scrapped and rewrote an entire chunk of this rip
> 
> Also, its playlist time:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5XLCQgZOk3Lj87eil5MNMk?si=TECXt5yPREiX1S31xvQLlA


	19. 19

Detox was hell, even with the medications. 

Despite the antiemetic she vomited countless times over the next few days, accompanied by chills and shakes and a headache that just wouldn't quit. Saying she was miserable would be putting it lightly, and it was made worse by the fact that Angela had called in sick ever since that night.

Did she finally drive her away? Maybe. Perhaps it was for the best. It was clear now that Angela had no interest in rekindling anything between them, dragging it on would just be torture at this point. And as badly as she wanted to trudge down to her dorm and wash away her problems and agony with liquor and drugs, she couldn't muster the strength to even get out of the hospital bed she was bound to.

So she was stuck. 

Stuck in a dark room with her thoughts and trapped in her own decaying body. It's not that she wasn't accustomed to being alone, living in solitude, practically a hermit aside from work and picking up women. It was that she wasn't accustomed to this situation, detoxing, fighting urges, recovering. The loneliness was just a cog in the mechanism.

On the fourth day, she figured Angela actually had passed her off to a colleague. The woman never missed even one day of work, the probability of her unloading the redhead onto some other poor unsuspecting doctor was growing.

It was nearly three in the afternoon when Moira's door hissed open and Angela Ziegler walked through. She looked like she was elsewhere, not dazed, lost in thought, and it wasn't until Moira spoke up that she addressed her.

"You're back," she commented, curled in a ball under her blanket, sweat soaked and shuddering.

Angela finally turned her stare up from her tablet, only for a moment, "Hello Miss O'Deorain. Yes, I am back. Your detox is going well, I am just looking over the notes from the on call doctor."

"This is what you call 'well'?" A halfhearted, weak chuckle escapes her chest as she rolls onto her back, "There has to be something else you can give me, I feel like a complete bag of shite."

Angela sighed as she scrolled through something, "Unfortunately not, you are already at max dosage."

"Don't you have nanites or something?" Moira inquired, sitting up.

Angela stiffened, her grip tightening on the tablet as she took a deep breath, "I do, but those are for field missions and critical conditions."

"Come on- I won't tell anyone-"

"No. There isn't enough to spare. You will just have to tough it out."

A long sigh leaves the redhead and she collapses back into the bed, rubbing her eyes with a groan, "Fine. Why are you here then?"

"Just to check up on you, see your progress for myself."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. That is all."

"Leave then."

Angela froze, surprised. Moira was already rolling over to face the wall away from the doctor, pulling the blanket over her head.

"I'll be back tomorrow to see how you are doing," Angela replied professionally, taking her leave as Moira told her to. She didn't seem keen on arguing or fighting the request, opting to leave before things became more tense than they already were.

The door closed behind her, and Moira continued her self loathing.

\----

The next day wasn't much different, neither was the day after that 

Angela came to check on her in the mornings, their conversation short and clinical, Moira avoiding her as much as possible at this point. It just hurt to see her now, a constant reminder of what she'll never have, a ghost of her lost future. 

Moira had all the time in the world to dwell on her mistakes, all the regrets and lost opportunities, every choice and every decision. She thought about how the future was deviating from her desired path, how she would undoubtedly die alone with her work, miserable and unsatisfied. Angela was her one shot at a happy ending, and she fucked it up. 

She didn't know where to go from here.

Did she even want to stay sober? Why was she doing this? That was the one question she wanted answered the most. Why, when she has no chance of getting Angela back, was she still going through with it? Moira couldn't care less if she was sober, she didn't see it as an accomplishment, she sees it as a disappointment, uneventful, lacking. What was life without a little liquor and drugs? She had no idea.

And that scared her.

\----

The days began to blur together. Had it been a week since she started detox? Two, maybe? She couldn't be sure, her head was in a million places and nowhere all at the same time, scattered into a million tiny pieces and taped back together. She was starting to come around though, nausea subsiding significantly, chills and tremors nonexistent, but her thoughts were most definitely still cloudy.

Sleeping was another issue. Not only was she without her biggest sleep aid, whiskey, she also had nobody beside her. The nightmares were vicious and unrelenting every time she drifted off, and she had woken up screaming with a nurse in her face multiple times by now. At least when she didn't have Angela she had the liquor to lull her into an unrestful, but dreamless, sleep. It was still better than what she was going through now, and it showed in the gaunt of her cheeks, the black circles around her eyes, and the sickly pale colour of her usually pink flesh. If that wasn't enough to make her look like a corpse, she couldn't recall the last time she showered. She looked like she was dying and smelled like it too.

God, she wanted to shower so fucking bad, but after being practically bedridden the past however long she worried about being stable enough to stand for that long. It was quite clear that she had shed weight during detox, both fat and muscle, not that she had much to begin with. Her ribs were shockingly visible and her hips poked out sharply, thin arms, gangly with bony elbows and shoulders. Moira had only just started keeping food down again, not that her appetite had improved, but she always ate the fresh fruit. At least it was something, but she was in desperate need of something with substance. 

She was also in desperate need of that damn shower.

Moira let out a huff as she swung her legs off the bed, the tile cold on the bottom of her bare feet. She sat there, gaining the motivation and strength, then hauls herself up on shaky knees, different joints popping along the way. She felt the need to stretch but fought against it, knowing if she did she would likely get lightheaded and collapse. 

She made her way to the bathroom, taking short steps compared to her usual long strides, and stripped her hospital gown, letting the fabric gather on the floor at her feet. Moira doesn't dare look in the mirror as she opens the stall door and turns on the tap, not bothering to wait for the water to heat before slipping inside.

Her skin tingled from the chill of the water pelting down on her, then burned as it warmed up. A satisfied moaned hum leaves her as she sinks into the soothing feeling, combing her skinny fingers through saturated red locks. It was the most physical comfort she'd gotten since the symptoms became unbearable, and it soothed her from the outside in.

Until she lost her footing.

Moira slips and her gut does a flip, hands reaching out to grab something, anything, to prevent her from going down. They swung through the air unsuccessfully, and she fell back, smacking her head on the shower wall and collapsing on the floor with a loud groan and a curse, skull pounding from the blow.

She rubs the back of her head, wincing as she searches for the emergency call string, yanking it hard a couple times. The whack made her dizzy, room spinning while the door to the bathroom busts open, Ziegler rushing in to her aid.

"Moira!" She calls out in concern, taking action immediately. She slid the shower stall open to reveal a very naked, very wet Moira in a slump on the floor clutching the point of impact, "You hit your head?" Angela asks, but it's more of a statement being said while examining the area.

"I'm fine-" Moira snaps out, attempting to get up, but clearly struggling, not making eye contact with the other woman.

Angela catches her as she stumbles again, her hands coming out to the redhead's slender hips to steady her, "No, you aren't. Are you dizzy? Nauseous?"

The touch sets Moira on fire, a pulse surging through her body from Angela's fingertips. It was dangerously addicting. "I said I'm fine," Moira echoed, shoving the hands away from her. She steadied herself against the shower wall, taking a few deep breaths before trying to stand up straight. When she does, she wavers back and forth, definitely not stable enough for Angela's liking.

"Moira, you need to go sit down. If you hit your head you may have a concussion-"

"I just want to fucking shower, Angela, leave me the fuck alone," Moira's tone was harsh and laced with irritation as she dipped back under the water, knees wobbly and head still spinning. 

Angela reached a hand under the water to lay on Moira's shoulder, "Then let me assist you. Really, do you expect me just to leave you here unsupervised so you can fall and break a rib?" She shook her hand off and patted the remaining droplets off with a towel, folding it and setting it down on the counter, "Come, there is an unoccupied room with a bath down the hall. But after, I need to examine you for head trauma."

Moira stilled, glancing toward Angela hesitantly without turning her head to face her. She was right, if Moira tried to continue her shower she would undoubtedly find herself back on the floor, and she still wanted to be clean. But with Angela bathing her? Surely she could delegate this task to one of the nurses.

"Don't you have more important things to do? Patients that need tending to?" Moira almost accused, the words coming out more bitter than she meant them to.

"I do have a patient. She is standing in front of me."

Moira sighed. Why. Why couldn't Angela just leave her alone? Why was she still playing this damn game? Was she trying to punish her? To hurt her? 

"Fine. Let me dry off and put a gown on," she reluctantly agrees, twisting the knob to turn the shower off.

The blonde shook her head, grabbing the towel, "No, you can barely even stand. Here-" Angela begins pressing the towel against Moira's torso, starting at her chest and working her way down her flat stomach, then she patted her hips and ribs. She moved around the redhead, reaching up with the towel to smooth back the wet hair, then continuing down her shoulders and back all the to the backs of her thighs. 

She rounded her again, returning to her front and kneeling at her feet, causing a rush to befall the geneticist as the bottom of her legs were dried off. Angela stands once more, cascading the towel down each arm until she was satisfied.

"There," she states, setting the towel aside and looking Moira's nude form up and down. She reaches then for a clean gown and slips it onto each of the woman's arms, tying it around her waist, "Wait here while I get the wheelchair."

Moira shakes her head, "No, I can walk," she protests, taking a step and immediately stumbling into Angela, the doctor catching her by her hips as bodies pressed against each other.

"Clearly you can't," Angela insisted, blue eyes fixated on Moira's lips, then back to her eyes, "I'll help you to the wheelchair."

Before Moira could protest again Angela had slipped one arm around her waist and placed Moira's arm over the blonde's shoulder, moving then slowly out of the washroom and to the wheelchair sitting in the corner of the room.

Moira felt helpless like this, dependent, and needy. Weak. She felt weak. As badly as she wanted to shove herself out of Angela's hold, she knew she would faceplant, and that would make her feel pathetic. So she let the woman assist her, taking small steps until they reach the wheelchair.

Angela lowers her down gently, making sure she's secure before taking hold of the handlebars and wheeling her out of the room.

The small trek to the room with the bath was silent save for the turning of wheels and footsteps. They arrived in under a minute, but the quiet made it drag on for what felt like an hour, or maybe Moira's sense of time is just completely fucked.

Regardless, they entered the new room where Angela parked the wheelchair and offered a hand to the redhead, lifting her up and resuming the position from earlier with a hand around the waist, Moira's arm over her shoulder. They walked tandem side by side into the larger washroom, where the doctor set her down on the closed toilet and began to draw the bath.

"Make sure the water is hot," Moira asked, though it came out as more of a demand.

Angela smiled and rolled her eyes, "I remember."

She remembers? Finally, a verbal confirmation that Angela recalled their time together and hadn't completely blocked it out or wiped it from her mind. Knowing that Angela remembered this little thing sends a warmth through Moira's chest, and makes her wonder just what else she remembers.

The water began to fill the tub, and both women twiddled their thumbs while waiting for it to rise enough for Moira's satisfaction, unsure of what to say.

The redhead is the one to break the silence, clearing her throat, "I'm sure I can cleanse myself once I get in," she states. Surely Angela had other patients that needed her attention, patients that weren't in love with her to the point of it hurting. Moira buries the warmth that swelled throughout her, remembering they had no future no matter how much it may seem like they could. Angela wasn't interested, and this was just her job. She was doing her job.

"Nonsense. Who will assist you out of the bath when you are finished?" Angela combatted, insisting Moira accept her help, "Now, let's get you in-"

Moira stood, instinctually following Angela's prompt. The blonde pulls the string at Moira's waist, causing the gown to fall open, then she hooks her thumbs under the fabric at her collar and slips it off to the floor as Moira's eyes hover over the other's features, too close for comfort. 

Angela then urged her towards the bath, keeping a hand on her waist, "Don't be afraid to use me for stability," she reminds her.

Moira brought herself to the edge of the tub, then swung one leg over and into the steaming water. She repeated the action with her other leg and paused, Angela's hands now hooked under each of Moira's arms. 

Both women lower Moira into the water, but the redhead is the only one that hums with pleasure as the heat envelops her and soothes her aching muscles. Once submerged, Angela let go and grabbed a washcloth and body wash from the shelf, along with shampoo and conditioner and a jug she could use to rinse Moira off with. Once the items were collected, she kneeled beside the bathtub and folded her hands over her lap, letting out a small sigh.

"Here we go," she mused, dunking the jug under the surface then lifting it to Moira's head, "Tilt back."

Moira did as instructed, water then drenching her already damp hair as the other poured it over her, making sure to keep her face clear of droplets for the time being. She repeated the act two more times, brushing back the wet locks of red, then she squeezed a pump of shampoo into her hands and began kneading.

The geneticist sank deeper into the tub, eyes closed and rolling in her skull as she melted under her touch, hums of appreciation vibrating through her chest. Angela's fingertips pressed firmly against her scalp as she lathered, and Moira realized how much tension she had been holding there.

"Jesus-" Moira mumbled, a tingle going down her spine.

The blonde perked a brow, "Are you tense?" She asked her, deepening the massage.

"Extremely."

Without warning, Angela's fingers slid down to her neck, rubbing firm circles with her thumbs at the nape. The motion elicits a groan of relief from Moira who hangs her head forward in response, giving the other more room to work.

Angela did as expected, hands kneading into her shoulders with expert precision. Her massages were always incredible, and this time was no exception, but Moira found herself wondering if she should really be allowing this when she's still struggling to move on from her.

Those thoughts were stifled quickly by the much needed release of tension in her worn out muscles. Fuck it. It doesn't matter who it is, Moira's body was in desperate need of relaxation and this seemed to be doing the trick.

"Is it feeling alright?" Angela inquired, voice smooth and hushed like a sultry lullaby in Moira's ear.

"Mmm-" she hummed, "It's perfect."

The only way it could get better would be if the massage led to intimacy.

Angela makes a satisfied sigh, continuing her ministrations, unlocking knots Moira didn't even know existed until now. It was strange how normal this felt, all awkwardness between them dissipated, leaving them with familiarity and comfort. Wasn't this taboo? Angela was engaged and bathing her ex girlfriend, massaging her, whispering in her ear. Would Fareeha hear about this? Would Angela tell her? Moira doubts it.

Something tells her she is Angela's dirty little secret.

The massage lasts another ten minutes. Ten minutes of comfortable silence between them, ten minutes of Angela's hands on her. Ten minutes that seemed like ten seconds. It was over much too quickly for Moira's liking.

Angela removed her hands from Moira to grab the jug again, rinsing the shampoo from her hair. Once no traces of soap remained, she applied conditioner and let it sit, moving her attention to the cloth and bodywash.

A generous amount is poured onto the cloth, then lathered in Angela's hands before it makes contact with Moira's chest. The doctor rubbed circles gently against her, over her collar, neck, then down to her breasts. 

The attention to her chest caused her breath to catch in her throat, pink nipples going erect as the wet fabric grazed over them. Moira leaned back out of instinct, allowing the other free reign which she took with confidence. 

The cloth was brought over her torso, under the water, and between Moira's legs, a whimpered gasp escaping her barely parted lips. She doesn't say anything, doesn't complain or stop her or ask her what she's doing for fear that it would stop. It didn't last terribly long, but she felt the pressure of Angela's fingertips press the cloth against her cunt and it sent her reeling long after she had moved on from the area.

Red and blue fluttered open to meet with Angela's eyes, though she paid her stare no mind as she finished up Moira's cleansing. She rinsed the conditioner out thoroughly, then doused the rest of her body that wasn't submerged and pulled the plug from the drain.

"Alright, let's get you out," she announced, standing from the floor and offering Moira her hand, "Careful."

"Actually I think I'd rather not be careful. Broken ribs sound like a grand old time to me," she chided sarcastically, accepting the hand offered and lifting herself slowly from the water. Once she was steady on her feet, Angela wrapped a towel around her and dried her off like she had done before, taking extra care in drying Moira's hair this time around.

"Feeling better now?" Angela asked as she assumed the position to help Moira to the wheelchair.

Moira nodded, placing her arm over Angela's shoulder without a fight, "I am. Thank you."

"You are welcome. Now let's get you back to your room, yes? I'm sure you must be exhausted now."

They stepped out of the bathroom together and to the wheelchair, Moira taking the seat. Angela wasn't wrong, it took a lot of energy to bathe, and she needed to rest.

"Away we go, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a bit softer to break up the drama and angst. 
> 
> I always appreciate comments!


	20. 20

Things hadn't been as tense between her and Angela since the bath. Their conversations were civil and simple for the next week after. No fights, no obnoxious flirting from Moira's end, just an average doctor and patient relationship. It was a relief, honestly, not to be searching for a way back into her life, but that didn't mean she didn't miss her still. She just accepted the facts.

Hopefully one day it won't hurt anymore, but for now she'll just go through the motions.

She had most of her strength back now, although she was still concerningly thin. But her usual routine had finally resumed; breakfast, shower, medication, therapy, lunch, Angela's daily check in, free time, dinner, then struggle to sleep.

It had become monotonous, and Moira was becoming more antsy as the days went on. There was only so much she could do on her laptop, and without proper work to distract her from her urges, restlessness was growing into irritability and a short temper.

She began snapping at nurses who were only trying to help, scoffing at the meals she was provided, and responding to Angela with single word answers. She wanted out. She wanted to get back to work. The thought of how much time and progress she has lost during her stint in the medbay haunted her, and she desperately yearned to return to her lab.

But was she ready to be alone? Could she trust herself not to fall into old habits? That she wasn't sure of. Maybe if she was allowed out for a few hours a day, then she could return here afterwards, and the hypothetical itch would be scratched. She would have to ask Angela when she saw her next.

\-----

At two in the afternoon the doctor made her entrance, tablet in hand as always and black kitten heels clacking against the tile. She greeted Moira politely and immediately started going over her most recent therapy session, scrolling through as she read.

"I see you've been making progress, Doctor Thorsdottir's notes are quite optimistic. She did however mention that you have been irritable for the past few days," she looked up from the notes on her tablet and took the physician's chair, setting the device down on the steel desk, "Have you been feeling well?" 

Moira bobbed her head in thought, "Yes and no. I am growing dreadfully disenchanted the longer I'm away from the lab. Idle hands are the Devil's workshop, and I believe it would be prudent in my recovery to do something productive with my free time," she argued her case, presenting it to Angela as if she were a lawyer attempting to sway the judge, "I'd like a few hours in the lab each day but to return here, to the medbay, afterward."

Angela nodded along, listening intently, "I understand," she responds, "I agree with you, actually. It will be good to slowly integrate you back to your day to day life, little by little. It can be very overwhelming for a patient to be given such freedom so suddenly after rehabilitation. I believe this is the best course of action to take."

Moira was somewhat surprised how strongly Angela was advocating for it, but the more she thought about the situation the more it made sense Angela would condone getting out of the room for a little bit every day. The redhead cleared her throat, "Splendid. I assume I'll be required to check in and out with a nurse before I leave and when I return?" 

"Yes. We will schedule your time in the lab for after my visits in the afternoon, that way it will be easier to keep track of you. I think we should be able to remove your IV now as well, so we won't have to worry about that."

Moira felt a wash of relief. Finally she was going to be able to progress her projects that have been on hold. There's only so much she can do without getting hands on in the lab, and she's already done it all. 

She drags her hands through her hair and sighs, "Thank God. Does that mean I'm free to go work today?" She asks, hopeful.

"I see no reason why not. Just be mindful of how hard you are pushing yourself."

Moira grinned, excitement growing behind her mismatched eyes, "Will do, doctor."

A nod was given in response along with a small smile, "Let's get that IV taken care of, yes?" She stated, standing from the rolling chair and joining Moira and unhooking the drip.

The redhead held her hand out for the other, who gently took it into her own. Angela began detaching the the tape holding the IV in place, then pulled the object from Moira's hand, placing a cotton ball over top the small puncture mark, "Hold it firmly while I get the bandaid," the doctor told her, voice soft.

She did as she was instructed and watched the blonde peel apart the wrapper, plucking the paper off before turning her attention back to the wound. Moira pulled the cotton away, and Angela placed the bandage on the wound, rubbing it to make sure it sticks well.

The rubbing doesn't stop.

Her thumb gently caresses Moira's hand, no longer paying attention to the bandage, but grazing over the smooth flesh draped over bones. Moira was still awfully thin, she's sure the other woman noticed, but she didn't comment on it.

After a few seconds too long, Angela's gaze lifts to meet Moira's and she takes a sharp breath in before pulling her hands away, clearing her throat, "A-Alright. You are free to go. Enjoy your time in the lab, Moira."

The redhead could have sworn there was a hitch in her breath, a longing in her blue eyes, but it was gone before she could study it further, Angela picking up her tablet and speeding out of the room. Moira let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding and stood to dress herself, replaying the moment that just passed over and over again until she reached her lab.

\-----

The two hours she spent working had been the best two hours she's had since starting rehab. While she had trouble focusing on only one project, she was able to make a bit of progress on the few spent her time with, and she felt renewed and successful.

If only she could celebrate with a drink and a cigarette.

Moira made her way back to the medbay, cravings creeping up on her quickly. She's glad Angela didn't just discharge her, glad to be going back to a monitored room where she couldn't indulge herself, couldn't sabotage her recovery.

The nurse welcomes her back, Moira giving a polite nod and slipping away into privacy. Though she wasn't the only one in the room when she returned.

Angela was waiting for her, in the visitor's chair, scrolling through her tablet as the redhead walked in, perking her head up with a warm smile to greet her, "Did you enjoy your time away?" She asked simply.

It felt like she was returning from a day of work, Angela waiting to listen to Moira rant about whatever she had been engulfed in. Déja-vu hit her like a ton of bricks, and she froze in the doorway. 

Angela looked at her with a quizzical expression, setting her tablet down, "Well?"

It took a moment for the geneticist to come back into reality, blinking a few times before registering that she had to answer. She stepped further into the room, the door closing behind her, and she immediately loosened her tie. As good as it felt to get dressed up again, it felt even better taking it off.

"Ah- yes, it was wonderful, thank you," she managed, "It's odd not having a drink after," the redhead admitted, carding a hand through her hair.

Angela looked disheartened at that, but quickly regained herself with a small nod and smile, "You are doing very well, Moira. Urges will come and go, but the important thing is that you didn't succumb to them. That is an improvement."

It felt odd hearing Angela praise her. A swell of warmth erupted in her chest, and she found it difficult to look the other in the eyes, "Yes, well, it doesn't make it any less difficult, does it?"

"No, I suppose not," Angela said quietly, a look of sympathy on her features. There's a brief silence before it's broken by an inhale, "Would you like to discuss about what you worked on?"

Moira paused, meeting Angela's gaze and holding it, "Aren't you on the clock?"

"That is none of your concern. If you do not wish to speak about it, I have other things to do-"

"Can we discuss it over coffee?" Moira interjected.

Angela thought for a second, mulling the offer over before nodding, "I'll go get us some, just wait here," she offered.

The geneticist shook her head, "No, we can have coffee in the cafeteria. I can use it an excuse to keep me out of my room for longer," Moira insisted, moving towards the door.

There was a long moment of hesitation from the blonde, and a look of worry in her crystal blue eyes, "I- alright," she gives a forced smile and starts to follow the redhead out the door and down the halls.

As they walked Moira made idle chit chat, hands stuffed into her trouser pockets, posture as pristine as ever, "I haven't indulged in a cup of coffee since I began detox," she sighed, "You haven't a clue how much I'm looking forward to it."

"Mhm," Angela responded, quiet and vaguely nervous. 

Moira perked a brow at the wordless reply, "Are you alright, Angela?" She asked, noticing just how quickly her demeanor changed.

"Hm? Ah- yes, I am fine. Just exhausted."

Moira knew what that meant. The excuse of exhaustion was tossed around frequently during their relationship, and while sometimes it was the truth, usually it was something she used to deflect from what was really bothering her.

She was unsure if she should pry, if Angela would brush it off or blow up at her. Anything was possible with this woman, and she was horribly difficult to read, Moira always left guessing at what's going on in her head. 

"If you say so," Moira left it at that. It wasn't her business, and if Angela had wanted to tell her she would have. 

Wouldn't she?

They reached the cafeteria, Moira watching the blonde closely as they made their way to the counter. Angela's eyes were scouring the room, and finally it hit the redhead that the woman was worried her fiancee might show up.

Moira pulled Angela out of the line by her wrist, "You're worried about Fareeha, aren't you?" She asked bluntly.

Angela looked stunned, eyes wide and lips barely parted. Her gaze was held to Moira's for only a second before they darted elsewhere, "I told you I am fine, now let's just get out coffee, yes?" She tried to tug Moira back into the line but she stayed put where she stood, pulling her back.

"Is she the jealous type?"

Now Angela looked irritated, "I am not discussing this with you."

"Just relax, Angela, even if she did witness us having coffee, all it is is just two colleagues chatting about work, is it not?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"But I'm your ex? Yes, I am painfully aware of that. Can people not be friends with their exes nowadays?"

"I guess you are right," she surrendered, eyes glued to the floor.

Moira placed a hand at the small of Angela's back, guiding them back into the lineup, "Of course I'm right, I always am," she teased, a cocky grin on her lips.

The blonde rolled her eyes, "You weren't when we were together," she chided back, wearing a satisfied, smug smile as they approached the counter. She turned her attention to the worker who knew Angela well, "Two black coffees, please," she requested politely, "You can pay for this one."

Now Moira was rolling her eyes, grabbing her credit card out of her wallet and tapping it against the machine, "Such a princess."

A laugh of disbelief left the blonde, "That's interesting coming from you, Moira."

Moira feigns offence, her brows shoot upward and her lips part in shock, "What are you trying to say?"

Angela accepts both coffees from the worker with a thank you, handing one off to Moira then taking a sip of her own as they move towards the seating area, "I'm saying that you are a spoiled drama queen."

The redhead accepted the coffee, but not without a scoff, "Is that so?"

"It is," Angela stated plainly, taking a seat in a far off corner of the room, where Moira took the chair facing her. 

"A drama queen is a Queen, not a princess," the geneticist informed her, taking a deep drink from her cup and giving a small hum of approval.

"Both rule with an er of superiority," she retorted.

Moira wore a look of skepticism, "We are both guilty of that, Angela."

The woman shook her head, taking another mouthful of the scalding hot liquid, "Incorrect. Just you."

Another scoff was pushed passed Moira's lips, "How do you figure that?"

"Because I say so," Angela put forth with a smile. 

"Mhm, and your word rules all."

"Very good, Moira, you are learning!" She replied as if she were speaking to a child, though with a condescending twang.

She gave a sarcastic smile in return, then gulped a considerable amount of her coffee down, "Weren't we supposed to discuss my work? Unless you'd prefer to continue proving my point."

"You have no point," the blonde shut her down, "But yes, why don't you explain to me what you have been working on?"

Moira took a deep breath, adjusting her mindset for the change of topic as well as adjusting her body position, leaning back and folding one leg over the other, "Well, I have various projects that have been in need of my attention, so I dispersed my time over a few different ones today. The one I am most enthralled over though is the dematerialization and regeneration of cells through genetic manipulation. I have run some tests and they're all successful so far but it is nowhere near ready unfortunately."

Angela listened carefully, nodding along as the woman spoke, "What is the end goal of this project?" She asked, curious.

"The end goal is to have the subject's cells dissipate and reform all together, rendering them as a kind of mist for a few moments before solidifying again."

The blonde's brows furrowed as she took a drink from her cup, "That sounds...extremely dangerous."

Moira nodded, "It is. Which is exactly why I'm not rushing anything. I haven't even begun to run tests on the rats, let alone a willing human participant. I've still got a tremendous amount of work to do, but it is coming along."

Angela's face soured, "You know how I feel about animal experimentation."

"Yes, yes, it's inhumane, I am aware. But it is imperative that I use living subjects for this project. It will be impossible to do it without them."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't do it," Angela mumbled into her cup as she sipped, her eyes held on the other's drink rather than her eyes.

Those words left Moira defensive, her stare sharpening, "And throw the years worth of work I've already done down the drain? Not a chance."

"Mm. What would a failure look like?"

"A failure? There are many possible outcomes. The subject could fail to materialize again, the injections could stop their heart, it could melt their flesh. That is why I am spending so much time on it before I attempt anything with a living creature. The less failures the better."

The blonde looked both worried and disturbed, and there was a considerable amount of time where she said nothing. Moira was beginning to regret telling her anything, thinking it might have been better to turn her down when she asked if the redhead wanted to discuss her work. But instead of cutting their visit short, she clears her throat and redirects the conversation.

"I hear there's a gala coming up. You and your fiancee will be attending I'm sure?" She tossed out, swirling the coffee in her cup.

"No, actually. She won't be here during that time. I was planning on attending only as long as I am needed. You know how I dread these events."

Moira perked a brow, "Oh? Where is she headed off to?" 

"She is to be dispatched a day earlier for work. She'll be gone for a few days."

"How unfortunate. I don't think I will be attending. I only used to show up for the drinks, without them I have no reason to."

"I don't blame you. If I could get out of it, I would. 'Mercy' is expected to make an appearance, so I must."

"Have you got your gown picked out?" Moira inquired.

"I haven't been worrying about it. I have a few I can choose from, probably something in gold."

"You do look good in gold," Moira complimented, downing the remainder of her coffee as she offered the woman a quick wink.

Angela clearly wasn't expecting it, coughing a bit on her mouthful of liquid, a faint pink spreading across her cheeks, "Ah- thank you," she managed.

Moira put her hand up in a dismissive gesture, "You don't have to thank me, I am simply being truthful," her mismatched gaze fluttered down to Angela's lips where a droplet of coffee sat, and before she could stop herself she reaches across the table and swipes it away with her thumb.

Angela looked like a deer in headlights, and the faint blush deepened in colour, bursting across her face as she processed what Moira had just done.

The redhead cleared her throat, eyes unwilling to connect with the blue boring her down, "I- ah- I should get back to my room and allow you to return to your work. Thank you for the coffee, Angela," she stood from her seat.

"N-No, thank you. You paid, remember?"

"Right. Well, I'll see you tomorrow," she said with finality.

"Yes, see you tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theyre conversing like normal people and im in love
> 
> Also, 
> 
> The gala :)


	21. 21

The week had come and gone in the blink of an eye, time going much faster now that she had something to look forward to every day. Moira worked happily in the lab for her two hours of allotted time each afternoon, and each time she returned to find Angela with two cups of coffee waiting in her room. It was nice to have someone to talk to, even if that someone was the ex she was still in love with. 

Few people could match Moira's intellect, and Angela was at the top of that list. Their discussions were in depth and back and forth, both women eager to share their latest findings or chat about recent events in the scientific community. The conversation was rich, and Moira realized just how much she missed it. 

Truth be told, she was painfully jealous of the suits that would indulge in conversation with Angela tonight at the gala, and even more so of the ones that would make a pass at her. But above jealousy for the politicians and investors Angela would be meeting with, she was protective. 

Moira knew too well just how handsy these rich, influential men could get at these fundraiser galas. They offer promises of funding in exchange for some attention from Overwatch's guardian angel, then become aggressive and cruel when she denies them. God forbid if one of them tried to take advantage of her. Not that Moira had any doubt in Angela being capable of defending herself, she just wishes she didn't have to.

At least if Fareeha was going she'd have someone with her, but she doesn't even have that. The redhead wanted to take her place, to escort Angela to the gala and watch over her, but with the amount of alcohol at these events she knew it would surely end in disaster and her recovery would be destroyed. She had become proud of her abstinence from substances, from nicotine to alcohol to the party drugs. For the first time in years she was finally clean, thanks to Angela's help, and it felt good. Better than she thought it would feel. 

She felt like she had life inside of her again.

Moira didn't want to jeopardize that. She didn't want to put herself at risk, within arms reach of hundreds of bottles. It was a bad idea. It was dangerous. It was too risky. She knew she shouldn't, that she should just enjoy her few hours in the lab and retire early to bed, but she found herself asking the nurse for a temporary leave anyways.

"Miss? Would it be possible for me to attend the gala this evening? I'll return sometime tonight, you can call me if I'm out too late," she asked with her most charming smile.

"Mhm, that should be alright. We have your cell number on file."

"Wonderful."

\-----

Moira didn't bother going into the lab that day. Instead, she spent the two hours selecting the perfect outfit for the event. If Angela was wearing gold like she said she was going to, Moira had to pick something that complimented it. At first she tried on her all black suit, and as stunning as it was, it didn't feel right. Then she wore a blood red suit, inspecting herself in the mirror with dissatisfaction. The third outfit she chose was the all black suit, but with gold accents; tie, pocket square, cufflinks, belt buckle. She turned around and adjusted everything, closing one of the buttons on her expertly tailored blazer with a devilish grin.

She looked impeccable, giving herself a quick once over and adding a touch of hairspray to the unruly strays that refused to cooperate. Once they were set, she headed out the door and down the hall to wait for the elevator that would bring her to the event hall.

There were many other staff members making their way down, cramming into the elevator where Moira stood the tallest, as usual. She nearly had to duck under the elevator door frame to exit the lift as she pushed past the other patrons, eager to find Angela and surprise her with her presence. She hopes she responds well to her unexpected arrival, but there is always a chance Angela could snap at her and ignore her the whole night. 

Moira was willing to take that gamble.

She stepped through the grand doors to the event hall, immediately met with the sounds of chatter amongst guests and classy music in the background. Glasses clinked and people laughed, everything off to a fine start. Red and blue scoured the room as she fought the urge to head to the bar out of habit, searching for gold through the crowds with no success. 

She succumbs to her thirst and asks the bartender for an ice water, skulking off to the corner of the room to continue sifting through the swarms of people and lavish decor. She sees Morrison, shaking hands with some politician. She sees Gabriel sitting on the sidelines with a scowl. She sees Amari at a table with…

"Angela-" she whispers to herself, locking her eyes onto the blonde in conversation with the older woman. They were on the other side of the room and Moira began to breeze past people to reach them, weaving in and out of groups with no apologies for interfering, unfortunately colliding with one of the politicians in her way, her glass of water slipping out of her hand and crashing at their feet.

The man was extremely displeased and elected to cause a scene over the spilled liquid and shattered glass, muttering something about his suit being ruined and cursing out Moira colourfully. The redhead snapped back at him, informing him that he can shove the suit up his ass before shoving her way out of the commotion, intent on joining Angela.

But when she looked toward the direction of her table the doctor was gone. She prays that Angela didn't see her, that she missed the collision between her and the vile man, that she simply left to use the washroom or get another drink. 

Moira looked to the bar, searching for signs of the blonde, maybe a glitter of gold from the corner of her eye, with no success. She cussed under her breath and sighed, dragging thin fingers through her hair as she took herself to the outskirts of the room once more, this time nabbing her own table where nobody dared to join her.

Maybe she shouldn't have come. Maybe she would have been better off staying in the medbay or working in her lab. The longer she sat, the more time that ticked by without finding Angela, the more she was regretting her choice. God, she wants a drink. 

Moira rubbed her eyes and sighed again, and just as she was about to get up and haul herself back to the solitude of her sterile quarters, the microphone was being tapped and the patrons were being addressed, Morrison taking the lead in greeting the important party goers and the staff that could make it. He droned on for a good five minutes, talking up Overwatch and charming the crowd, trying to rake in donations along the way. She stopped listening and scoured the room once more for Angela. She was nowhere to be seen. 

Until she appeared on stage with an introduction from the commander and an eruption of applause. 

The head of Overwatch Medical took the spot where Morrison was standing, microphone being adjusted for her height by some PA or other kind of lackey, Angela offering them a nod of thank you as she approached. Moira sat back in her seat, her gaze unmoving from the graceful blonde, entranced by the way her dress flowed and gold glistened. As always, she was breath taken by her beauty, an exhale filled with yearning leaving her chest.

The redhead watched and listened with interest as the doctor gave a brief overview of projects to come, new technology that would aid them, the expected timeline for these projects, and the benefits of funding these ventures. She did it all with her perfect, poised 'Mercy' act, complete with a warm, humble smile and tone as sweet as honey. She was perfect. The crowd loved her. Moira loved her. 

Though some guests loved her a little too much for the geneticist's liking.

To her left sat a group of businessmen, investors by the sounds of it, and Moira's previous concern of pigheaded males looking to get a taste of world renowned Angela Ziegler had become a reality. 

"How much do you think it'd take for her to let me fuck her?" One man, silver haired and hefty, said to the much lankier other. 

The thin male thought on the question as Moira ground her teeth, hearing them crunch in her head, "Maybe she'd even do it for free. The prudes are always the sluttiest," he replied with a snicker.

"Heh- might have to test that theory out later-"

Angela retreated off of the stage after making a closing statement and Moira stood immediately, turning to the foul scum at the table next to hers as she cracked her knuckles, then her neck, looming over them with a less than impressed expression that dared them to challenge her.

"The angel of Overwatch is far too exquisite to succumb to the tauntings of a rotting corpse such as yourselves," she puts emphasis on every word, every syllable, making sure they hear her insults in their old age, "I highly doubt you'd even be able to get it up long enough to indulge yourself, let alone long enough to please her. You two should really retire the dirty old man act and head back to the nursing home you hobbled out of."

"Excuse me? Do you know who I am?" The man replied, gruff voice furious and condescending as he squinted his eyes at her, preparing to stand.

"No, and quite frankly I couldn't give less of a shit as to who you are. Cease your sexist and misogynistic objectifications about her immediately or I will not hesitate-"

The man stands, still significantly shorter than the redhead but unphased by the difference, "What are you gonna' do, hm? File a complaint?"

Moira quickly grabs the tie dangling at his neck and yanks him in close, speaking into his ear and his ear only, "I'll slit your throat so slowly you'll choke and gargle on your own blood," she keeps her tone deep and seductive, foreboding, and when she pulls herself back from his ear she's wearing a grin.

Her fist releases the silken fabric, the man staring back at her in confusion and horror, clearly battling with himself on whether or not he wants to find out if she's bluffing. 

"Have a swell evening, gentlemen," she bids them farewell, offering a curt nod before pushing past the man with her shoulder, deliberately making contact and shoving him as she carries herself to the back of the stage set up in search of Angela.

With the announcements over with people returned to their conversations and drinks, glasses clinking and the hum of voices echoing through the event hall, accompanied by the soft music from the band. Moira wormed her way through the masses and to the stage, slipping behind the curtains undetected by anyone of importance. She didn't have the clearance to be back here, and she knew that, but it didn't stop her from sneaking in and eyeing up every nook and cranny behind the scenes hoping to run into the woman of the hour. 

Unfortunately instead she runs into the man of the hour. Jack spots her, a stern, quizzical look overtaking his masculine features, "O'Deorain," he addressed her, "Aren't you supposed to be on medical leave?" The way he asked his question sounded far more like an interrogation, his distrust of her dripping off his words.

Moira smiled begrudgingly, folding her hands behind her back, "Commander," she greets him politely, but not without a bit of irritation in her voice, "I am on medical leave, yes. Thought I'd come join in on all the fun you're having here. Wouldn't want to miss out on your inspiring speech," she taunted him, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I happen to be looking for someone."

"Ziegler isn't back here. Try somewhere else."

"Right. Forgive me for questioning your word, but I'd rather take a look around for myself," she disregards him, putting distance between them with a step, then another, "Have a good evening, Commander," she tells him, eager to remove herself from his proximity.

"Mhm."

She's grateful for the fact that neither of them are interested in speaking to each other. Jack has far bigger things to worry about, and Moira had Angela to worry about. She checked around the area, the dressing rooms, hair and makeup, and to Moira's surprise Jack was being truthful about her whereabouts. 

Unsuccessful again, but not defeated, she returns to the gala. With no further sign of her presence, Moira begins to wonder if she had already left. She did say she was only going to be here so long as they needed her, and it seemed like her part was over. 

With that thought in mind, Moira left the event hall and started patrolling the hallways. If she were Angela, where would she be headed? To her office? The medbay? Probably the former.

She made her way through the base, catching the elevator up to Ziegler's office, and loosened her tie as she waited for the doors to open. The monitor counted each floor and she tapped her foot with impatience, giving a sigh before the doors finally released her.

She's quick to walk through the corridors, turning corners until she reached the desired room, giving a few taps of her knuckles to the door.

A few seconds pass, and as she was about to knock again, the door hissed open.

"Moira-?" She looked at the redhead with surprise, still dressed in her sleek gold gown and hair still pinned to perfection, "What are you doing here? You should be in bed."

"I decided to attend the gala after all. I was hoping to catch you down there, but you departed so quickly after your presentation I didn't get a chance to find you before you left," she explains, almost sheepish in her demeanor, "Do you mind if I come in?"

Angela stared at her for a few moments before nodding, "Of course," she retreated back into the room, allowing Moira to follow. 

The redhead slips her hands into her trouser pockets, slipping in behind her. She was unsure if she should sit, stand or lean against something, waiting to survey Angela's body language before making a judgement.

Angela moves toward her desk, a small stumble in her step, and leans against it, leaving Moira to make her choice. She decides to stay standing, "So, you're done with the gala tonight then?" She asks, curious and somewhat nervous. 

"Yes. I performed my speech and was thankfully granted leave by Jack. I was actually about to come check on you once I got out of my dress," she admitted, tucking her fallen bangs behind her ear.

Moira nodded as she listened, stepping closer to the blonde. She can smell champagne on her breath, "Did you treat yourself to a bottle of bubbly?" 

"Only two glasses, but it has been a while since I've consumed alcohol so it seems to be taking effect. You've managed to stay away from it tonight?" Her tone was hopeful but cautious.

"I did. Water is nowhere near as satisfying."

"It's much healthier for you, at least," she replied. A short pause followed, biting her lip during the silence as the mood between them shifted, "...I'm proud of you, Moira."

Those were not the words Moira expected to hear. Her gaze shot up from her own shoes to Angela's bright blue eyes, locking her stare as she processed what she had said. The words were foreign to her, alien, and she was having trouble grasping it. 

"I beg your pardon?" She mutters, throat dry and hoarse, brows knitted together as she pulls her hands from her pockets to drag one through her hair.

Angela steps forward slowly, no longer leaning on the desk behind her, and takes one of Moira's hands into her own, holding her gaze to the other's, "I'm proud of you," she repeats with conviction, "You have come a long way. Truthfully I never thought I'd see the day you gave up your vices. You- you don't know how relieved I am."

Moira didn't know what to say or how to respond. Hearing those words was a rarity in itself, let alone coming from Angela. She stared at her dumbfounded, allowing her hand to be held and caressed gently by the blonde's thumb. It was such a comfort to know Angela saw her progress, acknowledged it.

Rewarded her for it.

Suddenly Angela stood on her toes to reach Moira's lips with her own, soft flesh warm against her, igniting a rush of heat to spread over her cheeks. She pressed back into the kiss, savouring the moment before Angela pulled back, gazing up at her with doe eyes.

Moira was speechless, confused, overwhelmed and overjoyed, unsure of what to say. She clears her throat and parts her lips to speak, then closes them again. Failing to put together words, she utters the only thing she can muster.

"Angela-"

"Shh- Moira- I don't want to talk-" she whispers, eyes fluttering between red and blue as she leans in close.

"What do you want, then?" The redhead asked, voice a low hum, still unsure if Angela was going to kick her out of her office or slap her or yell at her.

It was none of the above.

Angela let her hands rest on Moira's hips as she pressed their lips together again, the redhead responding immediately to the familiar sensations. All the agony of getting over her, all the effort she put in to moving on, none of it mattered now. She didn't care about anything in that moment other than reciprocating the blonde's desires, tongue sliding passed her lips to meet with the others in a burning fury of passion and pent up tension.

They spoke only with their bodies, ebbing and flowing with each others movements. Angela's arms snaked around Moira's waist, pulling her in while the redhead guided them towards the desk. Once the wood met the back of Angela's thighs Moira hoisted her up, lifting the woman onto the surface and bringing her closer to Moira's height. 

The kiss broke briefly only for each of them to draw in sharp breaths as they started to undress each other. Angela's fingers expertly worked Moira's already loosened gold tie, remembering the intricate knot as if she undid it yesterday. Moira pressed her face into the junction of Angela's neck and shoulder, peppering the flesh in eager kisses and needy nips as she reached around to unzip the back of her gown.

Moira's hands splayed over the newly exposed skin, nails digging in and dragging red streaks in their wake, teeth biting down on her collar and drawing a hummed wince from the blonde. She craned her neck in response, chest rising and falling rapidly as her breathing picked up speed, shoving Moira's jacket off her shoulders.

The redhead retracted her hands from Angela's body to shrug the blazer off and toss it out of the way, taking the opportunity to return to the woman's lips once more. She tastes of liquor and it spurs the addict on, Moira's tongue roaming and wrestling against the other's as her hands came back to Angela's form, scathing down her ribs and gripping her hips firmly.

The doctor barely fumbled with the buttons on Moira's shirt as her anxious, flustered fingers pop them open one by one until the fabric flows on either side of the woman's freckle dusted chest. She doesn't bother removing it further, immediately running her hands over Moira's torso, fingers slipping under the waist of her slacks and yanking her closer. 

Moira broke the kiss to plant her lips along her jaw, then her neck, sucking a deep purple, possessive mark on the tender, fair flesh there. Her hands are moving again, sliding down to Angela's thighs and under the glittering gold fabric. She comes into contact with lace undergarments, slender fingers hooking the waistband and sliding them down, Angela assisting the task by lifting herself off the desk. They're removed in a second and tossed aside, Moira now pulling at the straps on her shoulders and letting them fall down, exposing Angela's chest.

The redhead pressed a trail of kisses and licks until she reached one of her firm, hardened nipples, lips clamping around the bud and tongue working diligently before teeth bite gently, luring a gasp from Angela. 

God, how she longed to hear that gasp, those sounds. To feel her body heat up under her touch, and her breathing speed up. It was too good to be true, and she half expected to wake up in the medbay again, having this all be some kind of fever dream, but it never happened.

This was happening, and she was in Heaven.

Moira moved lower, pushing Angela to lay back on the desk. The blonde arched her back as Moira's hands smoothed down her stomach to her thighs, prying them further apart while she sank to her knees and kissed at her inner thigh, inching closer to her core.

"S-Stop teasing-" Angela complained, though it came out more breathless than she intended, her fingers running through red hair in frustration and impatience.

Moira obliged, dragging her tongue slowly up her slit, then back down to her entrance, pressing firmly and lapping her wetness with greed. The redhead moaned into her sex as she tasted the woman, her nails digging into Angela's thighs tightly. Angela gasped at the sensations, already panting and clamping her thighs around Moira's head.

Her moans began to fill the room, and Moira's tenacity strengthened, moving her tongue up to the bundle of nerves that throbbed for attention. Her muscle flicks back and forth, lips applying suction, saliva and lubrication dripping down her chin and further wetting her hole.

Lean fingers release their hold to join her mouth, prodding teasingly at her entrance and eliciting a whine from the wound up doctor. Could she make her beg? She had already complained about the teasing once, and Moira was curious just how far she could push her luck.

Moira pulled back, lips glistening as she smirked up at the other, fingers still barely pushing in and out, "So wet. Have you been unsatisfied lately?"

"Shut up-" Angela snapped, fingers tightening in red hair and pulling her back to her cunt, writhing against her mouth.

She really wasn't interested in talking, was she?

Sensing she wouldn't be luring pleas from her, Moira slides two digits inside, tongue resuming its work on her clit. She pumped her wrist slowly, feeling her walls constrict with each thrust, adjusting to the intrusion as Angela's whines grew into moans. 

The pace stayed steady and forceful, Moira's long fingers curling upward to press firmly against her g-spot. She wanted to continue her oral ministrations, but also wanted to press her body flush against the other's and feel the heat radiate from her. She wanted her arms hooked around her and pulling her closer, wanted to look into her eyes as she brought her to climax.

With her own desires in mind, Moira departs her mouth from Angela's core and rises to her feet again, fingers never leaving the inside of the woman as she repositioned. The redhead leaned down, pressing her torso against Angela's and capturing her lips with her own, harnessing an emblazoned passion while they matched each others movements. 

Angela's hips writhed in tune with Moira's hand, forcing her deeper at times and stealing a particularly loud sound of pleasure from the blonde between harsh pants. Her enthusiasm encouraged Moira to increase the force her wrist moved at, and she repositioned her hand so the palm would grind against her already abused nerves. 

Ziegler rested herself on one hand behind her, hooking the other arm around Moira's neck, urging her to offer her collar more attention. The geneticist gladly took to the flesh there, kissing hard before biting firmly as she fucked her with vigor and want and insatiable desire. The sounds between them were a meld of moans from the pair, laboured breathing, and slick, wet smacking with every pump of her hand. It was absolute music to Moira's ears.

The desk shook under them as Moira claimed her roughly and Angela's muscles began to tense, her moans growing higher and louder with each brutal thrust. Moira adds the third finger, slamming hard and deep against her cervix. The redhead feels her walls begin to clench, the body under her begin to twitch, and all at once she feels Angela grip onto her desperately as her body convulses, eyes rolling back into her skull. Every muscle tightened, and the strangled moan that left her would have been cause for concern if everybody on base wasn't at the gala tonight. 

Moira fucked her through her climax, keeping the pace steady as Angela rode it out for over a minute, and pressed a kiss to her jaw, watching her orgasm with half lidded crimson and azure. This was what she had wanted, what she's been yearning for, and she'll be damned if she ever forgets this moment, how she looked, as she came on her fingers on top of the same desk they used to use for this very act before. 

Angela's muscles released, and she pulled Moira into a tender kiss before pulling her on top of her as she lays back against the desk, catching her breath in the haze of the afterglow. She didn't say anything for some time, until finally her voice broke through her laboured breathing. 

"Get dressed, we're moving to your room."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We fuckin did it yall  
> It happened  
> They did the fuck
> 
> The rides not over yet tho, hold on tight motherfuckers


	22. 22

They fucked each other for hours that night. Over and over and over and over again they found themselves tangled in each other, in the sheets, exchanging orgasm for orgasm until the soft glow of morning light shone through Moira's curtains, bathing them in a golden hue. They didn't speak save for the begging and pleading, the moans and mewls, even afterward when Angela laid on her chest. It was silence, but the most comfortable silence they've had between them in months.

On a normal Sunday Moira usually found herself in her office, Angela too, but seeing how they drifted to sleep a little after six in the morning, she was sure the blonde wouldn't make it in today. Moira would eventually have to return to her room in the medbay, but that could wait. They'd sleep in, cuddled up next to one another, and enjoy a lazy Sunday morning like they used to. Maybe Angela would wake up and make them breakfast, have a pot of coffee already on. 

Moira slept soundly for the first time since they had been together; no aid from liquor or drugs, just help from the body next to her. Angela's body. 

The geneticists eyes flutter open and slowly register the room around her, glancing over to the clock on her side table. 11:47am. Once she processed the time she let out a yawn and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes before rolling over, flopping an arm onto the empty mattress next to her. 

Her heart sank a little at the absence of Angela. She always enjoyed waking up with her, even if she was cranky before coffee, which was more often than not. Moira told herself it was okay, that Angela must be either in the bathroom or the kitchen. It was times like this Moira wished she had the bachelor dorm with the open sightlines throughout. Less space, but also less wondering where Angela was.

Moira sat up and swung her legs off the side of the bed as she yawned once again. A slender hand grabbed the duvet and tossed it off before standing, nude while she stepped to the small ensuite to freshen herself up and dress.

After brushing her teeth and giving her hair a quick brush through, Moira threw on a pair of black boxer briefs and a sort of silken, mesh, black robe. She had no plans, therefore she saw no reason to dress in her day clothing quite yet, opting to savour the comfort of a day off.

She exited the ensuite and headed through the bedroom door in search of the other woman, calling out to her on her way, "Haven't made coffee yet?" She commented, walking down the small hallway to the living space, no scent of coffee or food wafting through her dorm. Odd. She always makes a pot first thing.

Moira entered the living quarters, and her eyes make a straight view into the empty kitchen. Her stomach flipped and disappointment hit her like a ton of bricks. Angela wasn't here. There was no trace of her whatsoever. 

Of course. How stupid of her to think Angela would actually stay. Was Fareeha supposed to return today? Did she regret coming to Moira's room? Did she make sure to slip out just after Moira fell asleep? The redhead's mind reeled and she sighed, dragging both hands through her hair as she headed to the small kitchen to make her own pot of coffee before heading back to the medbay. 

\-----

Moira hauled herself back to the medbat looking as pristine as ever. Was she upset that she didn't get the lazy Sunday morning she was hoping for? Was she disappointed Angela didn't give her a goodbye before heading out? Undoubtedly. But that didn't mean she had to let it show. Her hair was perfectly quaft and she had done her usual makeup, tie tight and shoes shined. Not that it really mattered, she'd be back in her hospital gown soon enough.

But hopefully not for long.

She was beginning to feel like she could handle recovery unsupervised. Moira stayed clear of any alcohol last night, and when she woke up to an empty dorm she didn't go for the bottle. She was improving, and after spending the night in her own bed she realized just how much she missed it. Her sheets were softer, her duvet more cozy, and the low lighting was much more pleasant than the fluorescent beams. Yes, she wanted to return to her own room. She wanted to get back to normal.

For now she was stuck here with only her laptop and phone to keep herself occupied. Moira buried herself in research, paperwork she had been neglecting, and more research. Her projects were coming along, but at such a slow pace it felt like a standstill. She couldn't get a whole lot done in the few hours she had in the lab daily, and she felt like she was rereading the same bits of information over and over again until they were drilled into her skull, the redundancy of it driving her nearly mad. She wanted progress desperately.

She had to speak to Angela. 

Moira closed her laptop and set it aside, hitting the call button to attract the attention of a nearby nurse. They rushed in quickly, and Moira was sitting up with an inquisitive expression, "Is Doctor Ziegler in today? I need to speak with her."

"No, she has the day off. I'm surprised she's actually taking it, usually she's here regardless of if she's on the clock," the nurse responded, "Am I able to assist you?"

Moira shook her head, "Unfortunately it is something only Ziegler can help me with. I'll speak with her tomorrow."

The nurse nodded and exited the room, leaving Moira with her thoughts. So Angela didn't come in to work today. That must mean that either Fareeha came home today or she was just avoiding Moira. She wonders if they're having sex right now. If Fareeha came through the doors and immediately doused Angela in a flurry of needy, hot kisses after being away for a few days. She wonders if Angela managed to apply nanites quickly enough for all the marks she left to heal. Maybe she didn't. Maybe they were fighting about it. Maybe Fareeha is yelling at her for sleeping with Moira. 

Maybe Angela just wanted to have her cake and eat it too.

Was Moira just a fuck to her? Did she feel anything anymore or had Moira just become a body? The thought hurt to acknowledge, sitting hard in the pit of her stomach. Angela wouldn't use her like that, would she? 

Moira slumped back onto the bed, groaning into her hands as they covered her face in frustration. Moira had always been good at seeing through people, finding out their intentions and emotions, but Angela has always been impossible to read, and it drove Moira insane. Why did she have to be so goddamn complicated?

\-----

Moira woke early on Monday morning after a restless sleep. Her nightmares had returned, and her body ached from the stiff hospital bed. She couldn't wait to go back to her room. But to get there, she had to get Angela's professional blessing to check out of the medbay.

The blonde usually arrived between 7-7:30am, always showing up before everyone else to go over paperwork while she had her second coffee and a granola bar to fill the void in her stomach, so Moira knew once it hit 8am she could request her come to her room. Time couldn't tick by any slower for her, the breakfast they brought her doing little to distract her from the seemingly endless minutes until Angela clocked in. 

She had a bite of the toast, and a spoonful of the yogurt before rejecting the remainder. Finally, the clock struck eight and Moira hit the call button. The nurse arrived and the redhead requested the attention of the good doctor, then she was left alone as the nurse retrieved her.

Butterflies blew up in her stomach. Fucking hell. She hadn't even thought of how she was going to approach this given their last meeting. Should she address that night? Should she simply request to be discharged? She had no time to work it out before Angela was stepping through the door with her tablet.

"Feeling well, Miss O'Deorain?" Angela's usually polite tone greeted her, eyes unwavering from the tablet screen.

Ah. Back to formalities.

Moira gave a sharp nod, "I am. I've called you here to ask to be released. I believe I am well enough to return to my dorm."

Angela's brow perked, "Do you?" She echoed.

"I do. Seeing as how I resisted the temptations of liquor the other evening at the gala, and again yesterday morning, I think I can resume normal life," Moira stated her case, "Do you disagree?"

Angela set the tablet aside and folded her hands in front of her waist, making eye contact, "No, I do not disagree. You have shown great progress in your time here, in fact, I was actually going to suggest the same thing. I think getting back to work would be good for you."

Moira swallowed and bobbed her head slightly, "So, I am free to go then?"

"I will have the nurses come by and get you all set. They will give you a schedule of your upcoming therapy sessions and appointments."

"Alright then. Thank you doctor," she formally responded, holding her gaze with icy blue.

Angela's expression wasn't her usual bright and friendly one, but an almost somber forced smile. She cleared her throat, "Right. Well, I'll see you soon," she stated.

Moira bit at her cheek, looking her up and down, "As a doctor or as Angela?" 

The other stayed quiet for some time as she mulled the question over, giving Moira an apologetic look, "As a doctor. Take care, Moira." 

Moira sighed, nodding in defeat as she finally broke her stare, "Go, then."

There was a moment of hesitation from the blonde, reluctance to leave it on a sour note, but she succumbed to silence, turning to exit without another word and leaving Moira to be tended to by the nurses.

As Moira was being disconnected from the machines and IV, her blood boiled with irritation. If Angela was just going to ignore her, why did she even fuck her in the first place? Did she have more than just two glasses of champagne that night? 

Was she too drunk to recall?

Once unhooked, Moira dressed herself and gathered her belongings, leaving down to her lonely dorm to drop them off before heading to the lab.

At least she could bury herself in work so she didn't have to think.

The lab was her safe place, somewhere she could hide away and ignore the rest of the world while she worked to unveil the truths of science. She was completely enamoured by her most promising project that involved the simultaneous decay and regeneration of cells, allowing the subject to essentially disintegrate into a very fine particulate matter resembling a mist before reforming again. 

Of course, this project was one of her most dangerous yet. The test subjects, rats, will most likely die from the process, the trials ending in a multitude of possible different outcomes. Some of the little creatures would melt, some would go into necrosis, others will have heart attacks, strokes. Some may even become stuck in the dematerialized state. She had to be careful with this project and take her time, lest the eventual human subject end up with dire consequences.

But who in their right mind would voluntarily be her guinea pig? That would take some persuasion. Worst comes to worst she could use herself, but she'd really rather test it out on someone else beforehand.

Moira spent the day adjusting the serum, running numbers and equations, getting everything just right before she could start testing on the rats. She wouldn't be able to start today, or even this week, but progress is progress and she knew she had to be patient. The less failures the better.

That didn't mean she couldn't be excited about it. 

She just wished she had someone to discuss it with. Usually she would converse with Angela about her recent findings and successes. They'd talk over coffee or dinner, tell each other about their day and work, update them about any breakthroughs they've had. Granted, some of Moira's methods sparked arguments between them, but she had learned to keep certain tidbits of information quiet from the moral doctor. Even then, she'd still take the fighting over the disinterest she was receiving now.

Goddamn it, she was supposed to stop fucking thinking about her. Why is it that everything always came back to her? No matter the topic, Moira would find a way to loop back around into thoughts of Angela. Fighting it was nearly impossible. Especially now that she has such vivid, recent memories to drown herself in from the other night.

Moira sat at her desk sighing, eyes strained from the loud brightness of the laptop screen. If Angela had social media accounts she would be looking at them right now pathetically. Perhaps it was a blessing that she wasn't displaying her life for the world to see, for Moira to stalk. Instead of profiles Moira delved into tabloids, an incredible mistake given how infatuated with Angela the public was. Article upon article regarding wedding speculation, paparazzi photos of the ring. Even photos of Angela and Fareeha together at a nearby coffee shop. The sight made her stomach turn, and she absentmindedly reached into her drawer to grab a bottle that wasn't there.

Fuck.

Maybe it had been too early to discharge her from the medbay. She could always check herself back in, make the walk of shame down the halls and to the receptionist. But then Angela would see her. She'd have to deal with the redhead again, rework her recovery plan, ask her why she felt the need to drink.

That was a conversation Angela wouldn't enjoy. It would end up in a fight, and almost certainly cause Moira's desire for liquor to skyrocket. 

No, she couldn't go back there. Moira had to ride out the craving, attempt to relax herself. She could head down to the sauna or hot tub and sink herself under the hot water, allow her muscles to loosen. God knows they're tight as all Hell from sleeping in that hospital bed for a month. It wasn't a bad idea, and without her usual vices she couldn't think of another way to unwind herself.

Moira tidied her work station and left the lab for the evening, taking her laptop down to her dorm where she would collect a fresh towel and her black one piece bathing suit. She really preferred to be nude but she's gotten in trouble for that in the past. She'd have to scope the area out before stripping down to nothing.

It was getting late so hopefully nobody would be there at this hour. She hated the feeling of the wet bathing suit clinging to her skin. Moira made her way down the hall to the elevator and once inside smacked the button for the aquatic amenities, the lift quickly dropping to the desired floor and releasing her to the scent of chlorine. It hit her nose violently, the woman forgetting just how fragrant the pools were, but she pushed on regardless. 

Moira was thankful for the mood lighting that glowed throughout the hot tub room, drenching her in a vibrant blue that muddied her red hair. It definitely assisted in the area of relaxation, no bright fluorescents to make her head pound, and to her absolute delight she saw nobody else occupying the space. 

The geneticist sighed and stepped to one of the chairs on the side, setting her towel down and slipping out of her bathing suit before testing the water with her toes. Scalding, just how she liked it. She took a deep breath and lowered herself in, a hum of pleasure leaving her lips as warmth enveloped her body and jets pounded the muscles in her back. 

She had forgotten how good this was, how much she enjoyed it. Usually it was accompanied by a glass of whiskey and her bluetooth speaker, but even without it her stress was melting away. This might become her new nightly routine. Maybe it'd help her sleep, too.

After about five minutes of peace and quiet save for the rumble of the jets, Moira hears the door and her eyes shoot open as she moves to cover herself. All she needed was Morrison seeing her naked in the hot tub after he's told her multiple times to wear a damn bathing suit.

Once the person rounds the corner and reveals themself Moira's stomach flips.

Of course it had to be her. Why wouldn't the universe take this opportunity to metaphorically punch the redhead in the face?

Angela freezes in her tracks as a tiny squeal leaves her upon seeing Moira nude. She covers her eyes instinctually, clearly flustered by the unexpected meeting, "Moira! I- I apologize- I can come back later-" she was already turning to speed to the door.

Before Moira could make a proper decision her mouth moves faster than her brain, "Angela wait-" she calls after her, arms crossed over her chest. The blonde does just that, still facing away from the nude woman in the hot tub but no longer b-lining it for the exit.

"Yes? What is it?" Her voice was small, unsure, distracted.

God, what was it Moira even wanted to say? 

She chewed on her cheek for a second, "You can stay if you'd like. I don't mind the company," she offered softly, refraining from bringing up the other night just yet.

"I am unsure if that is the best idea," Angela responded, her tone almost resembling disappointment.

"And why is that?" Moira challenged her, wanting to hear her reasoning.

Angela finally turned to face Moira again, but kept her gaze locked on her eyes, "You know why, Moira."

"Is it because of Fareeha?"

Angela nodded silently, "Among other reasons, but yes."

Moira narrowed her eyes as she studied the blonde, blue light bouncing off of her angelic features, "Did you tell her?"

The doctor's stare snapped back to Moira from the reflection of water they had drifted to, "Tell her what?"

"You know what, Angela."

The blonde folded her arms across her chest and averted her gaze, "I- I don't know what you are talking about."

Moira shook her head, lifting herself out of the hot tub and wrapping the towel around her waist, "Please don't do this, Ange. Don't pretend like nothing happened after the gala. Like you didn't kiss me first."

She took a step back, eyes still wandering away from the redhead, "Nothing happened, Moira. I had too much to drink and-"

"So you were lying when you said you only had two glasses of champagne?" Moira grilled her, standing tall and taking a step closer.

"I-"

Another step. "And we didn't have sex in your office?"

"No-"

Another. "And you didn't demand that we go back to my bedroom?"

"Verdammt, Moira!" She raised her voice, glaring the geneticist down, "Why must you make everything into a larger deal than it is? We were intimate because I was intoxicated. You took advantage of that. I hardly remember half of it and would like to forget it ever happened," Angela was pointing her finger at Moira now, furious, "Fareeha does not need to know about this mistake and I swear if you try to jeopardize my relationship with her-"

"Don't try and turn this around on me, Angela, you were the one that initiated it," Moira countered, eyes shooting passed the finger in her face to the chilling cold of the other's eyes, "I will not allow you to try and pull some moral high ground bullshit here. You are at fault if your relationship becomes jeopardized, not me. It isn't my fault if she finds out."

Angela's eyes narrow as she clenches her fists, then releases them again, "Do not say a damn word to her, do you hear me?"

Moira chuckled through a scoff, "Or what, Angela? You'll report me for sexual harassment again? Jack barely even skims over those reports anymore since you sent in so many with barely any context."

"Do you really think Fareeha would trust your word over mine?" The blonde folded her arms over her chest again.

Moira grinned slightly, "Even if she didn't believe me, there would be a part of her that would question you."

Angela shook her head, "Stop it, Moira. We are finished. What happened that night was a mistake, nothing more," she uncrossed her arms and let them fall at her sides as she turned to leave.

The redhead snatched the doctor's arm, tugging her back, "Tell me, then. Tell me you don't love me anymore. Look me in the fucking eyes and say it," she brought a hand to the woman's face, attempting to guide her gaze before she's smacked away.

"Don't touch me-" Angela barks out, shirking out of Moira's grip.

"Angela-"

"I don't." She stated, staring at the tile under her.

"You don't what?"

The silence hung in the air for a moment as Angela took a deep breath and lifted her stare to meet Moira's, "I don't love you anymore. I love Fareeha. I am getting married to her."

Moira only rolled her eyes dramatically and paced around her, adjusting the towel around her waist, "Jesus Christ, give it a damn rest. You don't love her. You jumped into the relationship in the same week we broke up. You said yes to marrying her because you were lonely and it was a sense of security. You're practically fucking using her to try and move on from me, but you can't," Fuck- it was all coming out and Moira couldn't stop it from flowing. Word vomit. "You can't stay away from me, can you? You never had to bathe me that time when I fell. You didn't have to kiss me after the gala. You didn't need to fuck me for hours on end until the morning came. So why, Angela? Why did you? To lead me on and break my heart again? Or is it because you still fucking love me?" 

"How dare you- this discussion is over," Angela declares, brushing passed Moira towards the door.

"Ah yes, run away again like you run from everything. It won't change the fact that you miss me. And I know you do."

The blonde whirls around, throwing her hands up, "What do you expect me to do, Moira? Cancel the wedding, end my relationship with Fareeha and just come back to you like nothing ever happened? It doesn't work like that. I can't just forget everything that led to our departure. You cannot change what is already done," she lectured her.

Moira reached out, placing her hands on Angela's shoulders and dipping her head a bit lower to look her in the eyes, "But I can change the future. And I have changed. You even said you were proud of me, remember? Before you kissed me, you said you were proud. I have come a long way and I couldn't have gotten here without you. I haven't had a drink, or a smoke, or any drugs since starting rehab-"

Angela sighs, offering Moira a disappointed yet apologetic look, bringing one of her own hands up to connect with the slender one on her shoulder, "You are correct, I am proud, but you being sober does not fix everything. I'm sorry, Moira, but you have to move on. I can't keep doing this."

Moira groaned out in frustration, "Fuck Angela, do I have to get on my damn hands and knees and beg you for another chance? I'm trying, here. I've changed for you. I gave up drinking for you. What more do I have to do to get you to reconsider?"

Angela stepped out of Moira's reach and grasp, that disappointed and apologetic stare amplifying tenfold, "I never wanted you to change for me, I wanted you to change for yourself," a small silence follows before Angela begins backing towards the door again.

"Please-" Moira reaches out and her steps follow, but Angela was already swinging the door open to leave.

"Goodnight, Moira," the blonde bids, heading back to her room at a steady pace and leaving the geneticist behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im sorry this took so long to get out aaaaa  
> Been battling a lot of anxiety lately


	23. 23

Moira spent the next two weeks working in the lab save for her scheduled appointments. During the ones with Angela neither woman said a thing aside from professional explanations and routine questions. Things had been extremely strained between them, the air between them thicker than molasses. How could it not be when Moira all but dropped to her knees and begged for another chance? Everything was awkward, and Moira felt ashamed.

She should have just kept her damn mouth shut. She should have taken that night they had as a win and left it at that. But no, of course she had to push it, open herself up and leave herself vulnerable. Really, what did she expect her to do? She's building a life with Fareeha. A life that has no room for a redheaded, lovesick geneticist.

So Moira buried herself in her work. If she didn't have time to think, she didn't have time to dwell on it, which meant she could push those ugly feelings down to the pit of her stomach where they belong.

Only no matter how hard she tried to distract herself, those words lingered in the back of her mind.

'I wanted you to change for yourself'.

Moira had a hard time digesting those words, the thought of going through recovery because she wanted to be clean instead of doing it to win back Angela. Why in the Hell would she ever quit drinking for herself? It's the only thing that numbs the aching pain, that wipes her memory, that lulls her to a restless sleep. Aside from her work, what was she living for? 

Nothing. She had nothing.

Today she had another therapy appointment. Lately they have been fixated on Angela, working through Moira's heartache and obsession with her, her unwillingness to let go of the past and move on. She's almost positive they'll touch on that subject again, along with a laundry list of other issues that plague her. They've barely even discussed her parents for fucks sakes.

As she walked through the halls to doctor Thorsdottir's office she wondered why she was even still doing this. Was she really so lonely that she'd talk to a therapist to get some social interaction? Did a part of her actually want the therapy? Pathetic. Embarrassing. Sad.

Moira entered the office and the doctor greeted her warmly, "Hello Moira, how are we doing today?" She asked.

Moira shook her head and kept her eyes on the floor as she took her seat, leaning back and folding her hands over her stomach, "Same as usual. Miserable."

"I am sorry to hear that. Would you like to talk about it?"

"It's nothing you haven't already heard."

"I don't mind listening even if I've already heard it. Clearly it is bothering you."

Moira sighed deeply, rubbing at her eyes with her thumb and forefinger before sitting up in the chair, "I fucking hate this. All of it. Not just Angela rejecting me for the millionth time, but life in general. I'm growing tired of trying to find a reason to keep going."

The therapist nodded to show she was listening but didn't interrupt her.

"I have my work of course, but that only satisfies so many of my needs."

"What do you feel like you're missing?"

"Human connection. Human touch. A relationship of any kind. I know, I know, I don't need someone to be happy, but it's a Hell of a lot easier when there's someone to go to bed with at the end of the day. That person used to be Angela, and now…" she trails off, staring at her cuticles and picking dead skin from around her nails. She hasn't gotten a manicure in weeks, "Now that's over. She doesn't want me. What if she's the only one? What if Angela is the only woman that can both put up with me and draw my attention? I'm thirty-eight, decaying day by day, growing closer to my deathbed and I have no one."

Jo keeps a calm expression, "I don't believe everyone is limited to one soulmate. There are so many people in the world, so many possibilities to connect with someone. I can assure you she is not the only one," she tried to encourage her.

Moira's eyes dart up to meet the other's then fall back to her hands, "Well she's the only one I want. Without her I might as well be rotting in the ground already."

The therapist shakes her head, "Nonsense. You have plenty to live for, Moira. And despite your relationship with her, I believe she would be devastated if something happened to you."

Her gaze lifts again, "Would she? I'm not so sure. It would probably be a relief to know I wouldn't bother her again."

"Doctor Ziegler is not that cruel. You mean something to her, even if the sun has set on your time together, that doesn't mean she wants to see you dead. Not everything is so black and white. There are many shades of grey in between."

"My entire life is made up of shades of grey. My work is questionable, bending the unspoken rules of science and ethicalities. My appearance is androgynous, warping the societial norm of gender expression. Angela and I's relationship has always been something in between. I just-" she sighs, slumping in her seat, "I just want her to fucking love me again."

"Who says she doesn't?" Jo countered.

"She did."

Jo readjusted, pulling both legs up and sitting cross legged, "People lie all the time, Moira. It is sometimes easier to deny the truth than to accept it."

The wheels were turning in her head, "So what you're saying is that even if Angela told me she doesn't love me anymore, she might have been bullshitting because it's easier and safer to stay with Fareeha?"

"That is an interpretation, yes."

"So you're basically telling me to keep trying?"

"Ah- that's not exactly-"

Moira was already set on a thought path, cutting her off without care, "Angela does fucking love me. I know she does. She's been lying to me, to herself, this entire damn time. Do you think I should inform Fareeha about Angela and I being intimate? She deserves to know, doesn't she? I would wish to know if I were in her position."

"Fareeha does have a right to know, but it is not really your place to tell her. Angela needs to have that discussion with her on her own time."

"But she won't. And before you know it they'll be married, adopting kids, building a life together and I'll be left wondering."

"Listen, Moira, sometimes it is better to just move on. Some things, no matter how attractive they may be, how badly you desire them, need to be put in the past."

"So I should give up? Let Angela live the bullshit life she doesn't even really want? Allow her to slip through my fingers? I can't. I won't. I have to have her. I have to be with her. I love her," she insisted, clenching her slender hands into bony fists.

"I know you do," the therapist sighed, "But if you love something, you must set it free."

Moira scoffed and rolled her eyes, "We both know I'm too selfish for that."

"Are you?"

"Yes," she bit back quickly. 

"Let me ask you something. Do you believe you and Angela are a good fit for each other?"

"In some ways, I do."

"Tell me about them."

"Well, she is the only person I feel at ease with. She's one of the very few that I don't believe is a complete moron. She is an intellectual match for myself. We connect through our passions. She challenges me, I challenge her."

"And what about the ways you are not compatible?"

"We are both extremely stubborn and guarded. Talking about our feelings has never been easy for us. We have conflicting morals often. She is good and I'm…"

"You are trying to better yourself, Jo replied in a factual, firm tone.

"Right."

"You know, you have grown quite a bit since our first session. You have made great strides towards a healthier, happier self, and for that I am proud of you. You are more self aware now than you have ever been, more willing to admit your flaws and problematic behaviour. Dwelling on Angela isn't going to propel you forward. I believe it will actually set you back."

"I can't just forget. Everything always circles back around to her. My mind, my heart, won't allow me to rid her from my thoughts."

Jo looked Moira in the eyes, trying her hardest to get through to the stubborn woman, "You have to. You have to move on."

"I'm finished with this session, Thorsdottir. I have things to take care of," Moira announced with an unenthused touch to her voice as she lifted herself from the chair. 

"Moira- wait!" Jo called after her, standing to chase after her but deciding against it. The redhead had already sped out the door and down the hall out of sight, leaving the therapist to scrawl down her notes.

\-----

Moira wasn't finished with Angela. The day she stops trying to gain her affection is the day she dies. If Moira was anything, she was persistent and ambitious with the tenacity and dedication to see things through.

She was going to get Angela back if it was the last thing she did. 

The redhead dressed herself in her finest suit, a deep maroon, with a black shirt and matching maroon tie. Her makeup was pristine, as was her hair, and she couldn't help but size herself up in the full length mirror on her way out of her dorm. 

She'd have to make a stop before heading to Angela's room, just something to sweeten the sight of the sight of the tall geneticist in her doorway. A box of swiss chocolates and an oversized bouquet of purple and yellow flowers should do the trick, although she would prefer to give her laderach. Unfortunately, there wasn't anywhere to get it on such short notice so the regular chocolates would have to do.

The trip to the store was short and within a half hour she was back at headquarters, riding the elevator up to the floor Angela's dorm was on. She is really hoping to catch the blonde alone, praying that Fareeha was busy with training or something, anything, else that wasn't the doctor.

Each floor that she rose in the lift had her anxiety lifting as well. Getting rejected by her was becoming more painful each time, and while she had a feeling this was going to go over much the same she hoped the flowers and chocolate would at least have Angela going easy on her.

After what felt like years the doors finally opened. Moira took a deep breath and exited the elevator with her gifts in hand, her grip nearly crushing the stems of the flowers. She told herself to relax, to put on that confident face and bury her anxiety until it was over. She wasn't here to get Angela back, she was here to leave an impression, to show her she's trying. Hopefully if Angela sees her putting in effort she'll reconsider eventually.

Moira reached Angela's dorm, another deep breath being sucked into her lungs and blown back out. She slipped the box of chocolates under her arm and held it there while she gave three firm knocks against the door. 

Seconds pass. Too many seconds. Moira rolled her eyes and added three more knocks, tapping her foot as she waited.

Still nothing.

The redhead knocked harder and for longer, making it to six or so before the door was opened, a comfortably dressed Angela standing before her with a shocked expression. 

After staring at each other for a few moments Angela pushed herself out into the hallway and let the door slide closed behind her. Her voice was hushed, but her features had shifted from shocked to furious.

"What in God's name are you doing here, Moira?!" She interrogated her in a loud whisper, pulling her cardigan more securely over her shoulders and crossing her arms angrily.

"I'm here because I love you and I want another chance. You've been with Fareeha for less than a year. Don't you think you are rushing into things with her?" Moira calmly explained, trying to reason with the upset blonde.

Angela's angry eyes were wide, appalled, "You have to stop this. You need to stop chasing after me. Perhaps my time with Fareeha has been short, but she has been good to me. Far more than you have ever been," her arms stayed crossed, guarding herself from the redhead.

Moira shook her head, "I am not going to stop because I know we are meant to be together. You cannot tell me you don't feel the pull, the molecular attraction and balance, between us. I know you, Ange, and I know you only agreed to marry her because you were frightened. Lonely."

Angela's arms unfolded and she pointed an accusing finger at her, "How do you know how I feel? How do you know what I've gone through emotionally? You don't. If you truly loved me, you would allow me to be happy."

There was a pause between them, Moira studying her features from her lashes to her lips, "Are you happy?" She questioned.

The blonde was taken aback by that question, a moment passing as she gazed into Moira's mismatched eyes, "Wh- of course I am happy," she told her, arms returning to fold over her chest.

Moira took a step closer, "Angela, please tell me the truth," she pleaded.

Her eyes shifted between red and blue, lips parted just barely, "I'm- yes. Yes, I am happy."

"Happy enough to marry her and not regret it?" Moira combatted.

The time they spent staring at each other seemed to go on forever, until Fareeha's voice broke the silence calling after Angela.

"Angie? Who is it?" She asked her fiancèe through the closed door, clearly curious as to what was taking her so long.

"It's- it's no one- I will be back in a moment," she replied over her shoulder, loud enough to penetrate the shut barrier between them. She returned her attention to Moira, an expression of hurt and confliction worn on her face, "You have no right asking me these questions and I will not be responding to them any longer."

Moira tongued her cheek, nodding slightly, "Have you told her yet? About us? She has a right to know."

"That is not for you to-"

The door opened behind Angela, her answer to Fareeha apparently unsatisfactory since the tall, darker skinned woman came to check on her. 

Her expression shifted from shock to disbelief to irritation to anger and finally, realization, "What is she doing here?" She asked Angela firmly with a bite to her tone.

Angela looked like a damn deer in headlights as she scrambled to find a reasonable explanation, "I don't know. She just showed up here with flowers, begging for me to take her back. She is clearly unstable, thinking I would want anything to do with her-"

"We had sex while you were away on your mission. The night of the gala. Angela was the one who initiated it, in fact," Moira was quick to cut the blonde off, exposing her to her fiancée.

The doctor narrowed her eyes and glared at Moira briefly before she spun around to meet Fareeha's, "She is lying. You cannot trust what she says, Ree," she took the woman's hands into her own, "She is only trying to sabotage our relationship in hopes that I will take her back."

Fareeha was visibly distraught, brows creased, lips tightly drawn. She looked between Angela and the redhead, jaw clenched and muscles flexing there as she thought and processed.

Moira couldn't stand the quiet that fell between the trio, "I swear on my life, Amari. I told her that you deserve to know, but she disagreed. Did she even tell you that she was spearheading my recovery? Seeing me daily? Did she tell you about the bath she gave me? I doubt it."

"We did not have sex! You are trying to ruin my life again with your obsession over me. I want nothing to do with you, Moira, and you need to leave. Now," Angela's voice was stern, furious. 

"But I-"

"Now, Moira. We are done. I will not entertain you any longer. Let us discuss this inside, Fareeha."

With one final chilling glare towards Moira, Angela pulled her fiancée by the hand into the dorm and let the door shut in Moira's face. The redhead drew in a few angry breaths before she threw the bouquet of flowers at the door, storming down the hall, muttering curses under her breath. 

Still. Still she was fighting it. Still Angela didn't want her. If Fareeha was smart she would see through her bullshit, see the way Angela's eyes lingered on red and blue instead of brown. But Moira didn't know her, and she didn't know how smart she was. For all she knows Fareeha would believe her blindly and they'd get married and have children without a doubt in her mind that the blonde was lying to her.

She hated this. She hated Angela. She hated that she wanted her so violently, the need to feel her lips, her hands on her body pulsing through her with each pounding heart beat. Moira's hands balled into fists as she stomped through the base, heading not back to her dorm but down to the front doors. 

Moira didn't know exactly where she was going, she just knew she couldn't be in the same damn building as those two. All her effort, all her work, her entire recovery had been for nothing. Angela wants nothing to do with her, no contact whatsoever. The redhead would have been perfectly happy continuing her path of indulgence had she known of Angela's brute stubbornness.

But she did know, didn't she? Moira had set herself up for failure the second she checked herself in. She knew Angela wouldn't admit her true feelings easily, if at all. She placed herself in this position. This was her fault.

All her fault.

The lovesick, heartbroken geneticist hailed a ride to downtown, intent on drowning her thoughts and sorrows in her longed for addictions. It was over, her and Angela were done, and her recovery was empty and pointless. Might as well enjoy her misery, she thought. 

The bars unfortunately weren't very busy that evening. Moira had hoped to find a woman and fuck her in the bathroom before taking her back to her dorm to fuck her through the night, but options were slim. She'd have a few drinks here before heading to a different place, cruising the strip of establishments for something or someone to fill the void Angela has left. 

Her husky voice called to the bartender for a bottle of their finest Irish whiskey. The man behind the counter perked a brow and questioned her ability to take down an entire bottle, to which Moira barked back that she could drink anyone here under the table before slipping him a hundred dollar bill, hoping to buy his mouth shut.

Her hopes were granted. The man placed the bottle down and took the bill, leaving her be with a glass which she chose to ignore. There was a slight hesitation as she cracked open the lid, a moment of contemplation. She had gone through so much to get clean, worked so hard. 

She stifled those thoughts with the amber liquid, fire touching her tongue and sliding down her throat to warm her stomach. Fuck, she had missed that feeling, the taste, the rush of heaviness to her limbs that evened out after a few more mouthfuls. It was no wonder she had become so dependent on the liquor. It was always there to come home to, always there to comfort her. It was an unconditional love she could never receive from Angela, or any other woman, for that matter.

Who cares if it's slowly killing her? Moira sure didn't. Angela more than likely didn't either. Trying to be sober was a losing game and Moira had no interest in fighting it any longer. Maybe if she's lucky she'll get so drunk she'll walk into the road and get hit by a bus. 

Halfway down the bottle she needed a cigarette. It was more of a habit to smoke with her drink than it was a craving. She downed the remaining liquor, feeling her stomach want to reject it as she chugged the burning liquid down, but she wasn't about to waste it. She paid a hundred bucks for this bottle.

She slammed the empty bottle down on the counter and stood, wobbling as she gained her balance. Her tolerance had gone down since she had drank last, and in a few minutes she'd be stumbling. Better get to where she's going fast before it kicks in.

Moira left the bar, pushing her way through the doors sloppily and heading to the corner store to get a pack. No, two packs. Once back outside in the brisk air she tore the plastic off and pulled a stick out, placing it between her teeth and sparking it. The smoke filled her lungs and she nearly moaned, the head rush coming quickly after. 

Moira stumbled her way into one of the clubs in search of a woman or one of her drugs of choice. If she was breaking her sobriety she might as well go all out, she thought to herself. The flashing of the colourful strobe lights immediately disoriented her, and she stayed along the walls to make sure she wouldn't fall over as she scoured the place. It was a healthy mix of men and women that crowded the dance floor, all genders mingling with each other and moving to the repetitive beat as they ground their bodies against someone next to them. Half of them looked high on something, surely she'd have luck finding a dealer to buy from. 

She found her way upstairs, searching the bathrooms for her unknown target. Women chattered amongst themselves about recent drama unfolding in their lives as they freshened up and took pictures, sipping on their drinks intermittently. Others were doing lines off the backs of their hands and sharing with their friends. Moira grinned.

"Hello, ladies. Are ye' in the sharin' mood?" She asked sloppily, words slurred and accent at its peak.

"Why, you want some? It'll cost you," one of them piped up, a brunette, looking the redhead up and down.

Moira leaned into her ear, "What form of payment are ye' interested in?" She asked in her sultry, husky tone, pulling back to give her a quick wink. 

The woman smiled, "You sure are eager. Money will be just fine. How much do you want?"

Moira fished out her wallet and pulled another hundred out, holding it folded between her middle and pointer finger, "This should do me nicely," she stated.

The brunette pulled a small vial from her pocket and swapped Moira for the cash, "Enjoy," she said with a grin, tucking the hundred into the same pocket. 

Moira hadn't even bothered asking her what it was. Looked like cocaine, so that's what she rolled with. At this point she didn't care what it was, she just wanted to be high.

She pushed her way into one of the stalls and leaned back against the door as she popped the lid off of the vial, dumping a generous amount onto the back of her hand and snorting it quickly. Long fingers rubbed at her nose as it wriggled, a long, drawn out sound of pleasure leaving her while the rush hit her head hard. 

"Mmm- fuck yes. That's it," she muttered under her breath, dumping more onto her hand and sniffing the line eagerly. 

Now she was high. Very high. Extremely high. And with that her sex drive spiked. She needed to find someone to fuck. She needed to feel them.

She needed to forget Angela.

Moira left the washrooms and clambered down the stairs quickly, shoving her way into the crowd of people and finding a group of ladies to join. They didn't bat an eyelash at the new body that mingled in their circle, but instead welcomed her with roaming hands and eager lips.

She moved between two of the women, grinding in a threesome to the beat, her own hands running over the body in front of her while she felt the other hands behind her on her hips. It was hot, not just the situation but the temperature from so many people, and Moira could swear it was getting harder to breathe.

It was.

The redhead began to feel lightheaded and broke apart from the women she had been dancing with. She tried to stumble her way to the bar and get another drink, but she was unable to make it, knees giving out as her heart started hammering in her chest. She winced and groaned on the sticky floor, nobody stopping to help her up or check on her, only stepping over the woman. 

Shit. Was she overdosing? 

Moira blacked out, lying unconscious on the floor of the club while the party went on around her. The sound faded in her head until there was nothing but silence and dark, and if she were coherent she would have thought she was dying.

If she could she would laugh at the irony of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im evil and i cant help but give yall angst


End file.
